Renaissance Island: The 87th Hunger Games
by LiveFreeOrDie
Summary: Having presided over two underwhelming Games that did not meet President Ava Greenleaf's expectations for viewership ratings, Domitian Ellsworth is given a final chance to prove himself. He'll do whatever he can to keep the viewers glued to their seats for the 87th Games, which will take place on an island that contains an intriguing Capitolian twist. SYOT CLOSED
1. White Canvas

**AN: So this is my very first story here on FF. Let's see how it goes!**

* * *

Domitian Ellsworth

Head Gamemaker

The pristine and overly sterile office was dead silent except for the constant ticking of the polished chrome wall clock to my right. I had never understood the President's extreme attention to detail and overwhelming need for perfection, but I found it particularly disturbing given recent developments…

I knew for a fact that past Head Gamemakers have been made to disappear after a particularly disastrous Games, sometimes in a not-so-inconspicuous fashion. Was I to meet a similar fate? Could this miserably neat office be the last thing I see in this world?

The longer I spend contemplating these things, the faster my heart began to beat, with its volume eventually matching the ticking of the wall clock. My palms became increasingly moist with sweat, which forced me to continuously wipe them on the fabric of the white canvas chair I occupied.

My racing thoughts were interrupted by the door's sudden opening, as President Ava Greenleaf herself walked in.

I immediately jumped to my feet and stood at attention, desperately hoping that she wouldn't notice how the fabric of the canvas chair now featured a few darkened streaks due to my sweaty hands.

"Relax Dom," she said with a slight smile, "No need to be so formal. We've been working together for, what, going on three years now?"

I returned the smile, nodded, and sat back down in the chair as she took a seat behind the shiny mahogany desk. Though I felt a slight sense of relief, I reminded myself that President Greenleaf was notoriously deceptive and manipulative. She was not of noble birth, so to speak, having been born in one of the Capitol's poorer sectors (which, of course, was still miles ahead of even the wealthiest District). She worked her way up the political food chain through a fine combination of blackmail, manipulation, and keeping powerful company. Polite and even charming at a glance, she was ruthless in her methods and unwavering in her expectations.

"So, let's get straight to business, shall we?" She began again. "I think you and I both know exactly why you're here. The ratings and viewership data for the 86th Games suggest that the people were not too thrilled, much like the Games that came before that one. Now, since the 85th was your first in charge, I decided to give you the benefit of the doubt. After all, it wasn't like it was a total catastrophe or anything like that. But now, after yet another year of undershooting our projections and failing to really energize our audience, I must ask: what do you have to say for yourself?"

Luckily for me, I had rehearsed some lines in case I needed to cover for myself like this.

"Madame President, I want to say that I deeply and sincerely apologize for failing to meet the standards and expectations that we set prior to the 86th Games. But I do believe that there were many positives to be found in those Games – moments of brilliance in Arena design, quite a few memorable Muttations, several highly spectacular fights… I do believe that if you would just give me one more chance to prove myself, to build upon the successes of the 86th and learn from the mistakes that we, uh, that _I_ made… I won't let you down again. I promise."

A moment of silence followed that seemed to last for an eternity. And then she flashed her signature smile again.

"But of course. You are right in that there were definitely true moments of… quality in the 86th. Things we could build upon. After all, that resort Arena was built to your style. Having too many different people in charge over just a few years can be somewhat… jarring for the audience. Yes, I do believe you deserve one more chance to make things right. I'll have an updated standards file sent to your office in the next few days."

She stood up and offered a handshake, leading me to quickly wipe my hand against the canvas chair once more before standing up. She seemed to notice this and laughed as we shook hands.

"Thank you so much Madame President. Thank you."

Yes, thank you indeed.

* * *

 **AN: I hope you enjoyed this short intro – it's just a taste of what's to come. Please review and let me know what you thought of the story so far, as well as what I could be doing better.**

 **The Tribute form and guidelines are on my profile. Please send those by PM if you're interested. I don't plan on being too picky since this is my first story.  
**

 **I should also note that I intend for this story to take on some more mature themes. The story will be of a more dark and serious tone with an emphasis on realism, so be prepared.**


	2. Remus

**AN: So I've already received several great Tributes and the updated list is on my profile. Still plenty of spots open though!**

* * *

Domitian Ellsworth

Head Gamemaker

I stare at the blank surface of my office desk as I endlessly rerun in my head the conversation I had with the President.

"So, how'd it go?"

The voice at the door came from Remus, a 21-year-old Gamemaker, my second-in-command, and probably the only person I actually trust.

He had been my apprentice for some time back when I was just a regular Gamemaker, having worked on the 79th to 84th Games. That was a decently long tenure, by the way, and one of the few reasons the President ended up selecting me to serve as Head Gamemaker. Most of them last only five years or so, before they either quit on their own will, or in cases of particularly egregious mistakes, are made to disappear. Being a subordinate Gamemaker was never that glamorous of a job – you have limited creative direction, are almost never shown on TV, and are rarely ever given credit for the work that you do. All credit tends to go to the Head Gamemaker, which is why it is he who tends to be elevated to celebrity status for an outstanding year, while anyone could end up paying the ultimate price for a bad year.

"Well, I'm still here," I reply, "So I guess it could've been worse."

"Ha. What exactly did she say?"

"Nothing unexpected really, just the typical spiel about those goddamn ratings and not meeting the standards. I swear, I have never met someone so obsessed with numbers."

"You have to admit…" He started hesitantly, "…that you knew the last two Games had some major issues. I mean, in the 85th we had 14 Tributes die in the Bloodbath alone. That's more than half! You then consider the fact that five of the six Careers survived, meaning that there were only five non-Careers left, who were all hunted down within a day. The Victor was literally decided on the third day!"

"Well how was I supposed to stop these kids from killing each so fast?" I fired back, "Once that countdown reaches zero, it's a total free-for-all."

Remus calms himself after his previous little rant and answers, "I think the Arena design had something to do with it. I mean, the Cornucopia was in a courtyard with very few exits, and the Arena itself was on the small side, so it wasn't too surprising when those Careers hunted the rest so quickly…"

A moment of silence ensues as I process what Remus had just said.

"I suppose you're right. I should have corrected that before I gave 'em the green light."

The Arena he was referring to was a scale-model of the Caesar Flickerman Museum here in the Capitol, which is apparently considered one of the great works of Capitolian architecture, hence its selection for the 85th Games. Sure, it wasn't the most exciting thing ever, but I thought it'd be nice to show the Districts something from the Capitol that they wouldn't be able to see otherwise. Plus, it was either that or have an Arena based off of a middle school, which I sure as hell wasn't going to choose.

Remus goes on, "I think what happened the next year is that we overcompensated for the rapid and bloody 85th. We decided to play it safe with an island resort Arena, which had been done before, and sent a bunch o' Mutts at the Careers. Of course, some idiot on Mutt Design and Dev made those things way too powerful and ended up wiping out half the Careers, which slowed things down quite a bit, since the other Tributes were just not that bloodthirsty that year. The 86th ended up lasting just over a month, often with several passing without a single death, not to mention that there were a few too many deaths due to dehydration. Oh! And also—"

"I think I get the idea, Remus," I say as I cut him off (he always had a tendency to rant). "The bottom line is this: we have one more shot at this. If the 87th doesn't meet her expectations, it'll certainly be the end of the line for me. But don't worry, you'll be fine. You're a smart kid, and I can tell that she likes you. Heck, seeing as how well acquainted you're becoming with the whole process, she might just make you my replacement."

Remus smiles as he turns to leave. "Let's hope it doesn't come to that."

* * *

Ava Greenleaf

President of Panem

As I watched him leave my office, I couldn't help but think about how out-of-place Dom seemed to be. For as long as I remember, he had viewed his position as just another job to make ends meet. After all, he had a wife and young daughter, and insisted that they live in only the finest of apartments in the Capitol. I recall the day he came in for his official interview for the Head Gamemaker Position – his laidback demeanor, his sense of humor, and his overall benevolent nature. It was in stark contrast to the Head Gamemakers I was accustomed to – men and women with a seriously sadistic streak, who knew how to use the media and manipulate the masses, and who unmistakably enjoyed the nature of their work.

Take my first Head Gamemaker appointee, for example. His name was Severus Bridgewater, and his Games were some of the cruelest and most sadistic ever. He did not only go for straight-up blood and guts, but also engineered scenarios that made allies turn on each other, all with considerably violent results. Unfortunately for him, he got carried away. He would often unleash overpowered Mutts on unsuspecting Tributes just for the sake of it. He would set a myriad of murderous traps that Tributes had no chance to get out of. You see, the Games were supposed to be about the 24 individuals in the Arena and not so much the sociopathic Gamemakers. So, I had him killed. And of course, I needed to have some fun with it.

I placed him in the center of a circular room with 24 statues positioned around the perimeter, each depicting one of the 24 Tributes in his last Games, the 80th. Each statue was loaded with darts that would fire from the mouth, with the tips containing a mild neurotoxin that would increasingly impair one's movement speed with each additional dose. Each time the statue was about to fire a dart, a large button on its torso would be lit. Pressing this button would cancel the firing of the dart, at which point the button on another statue would be lit.

As expected, Severus continuously ran around the room, frantically pressing the buttons as they lit up. Soon enough, he began to tire and took hits, slowing him down further. Eventually, he collapsed to the ground and continued to be hit by the darts, shutting down his respiratory function and killing him. He had survived for just under an hour, longer than I had expected.

For my appointees after Severus, I began to favor the "less-conventional" Gamemakers, prizing experience and technical expertise over sadistic tendencies and violent creativity. I had grown tired of Head Gamemakers trying to inject too much of themselves into these Games.

However, Severus had a son who showed exceptional talent in programming and a keen interest in the Games. And so, I sent someone to his school to recruit him into our apprenticeship program. He's risen through the ranks over the years and is now serving as Dom's second-in-command.

Isn't it nice when things work out?

* * *

 **AN: I hope you all enjoyed this chapter. I tried to do some more world-building and character development for Domitian and Ava. Please leave a review (even if it's really short) and let me know what you think!**

 **The Tribute form and guidelines are on my profile, as well as a current list of accepted Tributes. Please send submissions by PM if you're interested.**

 **And just as a point of clarification: there is some overlap between this universe and the Hunger Games universe, except that Katniss was killed by Clove towards the end of the 74** **th** **Games, so there was never a rebellion. President Snow died of natural causes and President Greenleaf succeeded him.**


	3. Truth (D6)

**AN: You might have noticed by now that I try to update every weekend (this one's a little late because of the doc manager issues). I'll be introducing the characters in a more "random" order, instead of by District number. Anyway, this is my first attempt at writing actual SYOT characters. Please let me know what you think of it!**

Lynn Stackker

District 6 Female

16 Years Old

"Hey, wait up!" I called to Kenny as she leapt across the small gap two rooftops away.

I quicken my pace, cautiously monitoring my steps as I approach the ledge, knowing that even a slight misstep could result in me plummeting to my death.

She's leaning up against a short brick wall by the time I catch up to her. "Havin' trouble keeping up back there?"

I smile to myself. "Screw you Kenny, you and I both know that I'd be an entire neighborhood ahead of you if you didn't have that 10-minute head start."

"Ha-ha. That's a good one Lynn."

"Y'know, it's funny. For a District that specializes in transportation, you'd think we'd have a little better means of transport 'round here."

"Taking everything and leaving nothing for the people who make it all. That's the Capitol way."

I feign a dramatic gasp. "How dare you talk about our glorious Capitol like that? I oughta report you to a Peacekeeper!"

Kenny gives off her trademark wild laugh, which was admittedly as cute as everyone else seems to think. No matter why all the boys at school fall head-over-heels for her.

"Yeah, if you could even find one nowadays!"

She wasn't wrong. The thing with District 6 is that it's just so massive – nearly 800,000 people living within its borders was bound to cause some problems, since no other District came even close in population. You then add in a (possibly corrupt) mayor who doesn't seem to give two shits about anything and the fact that the Capitol can't muster enough Peacekeepers to scale with our population…

Anyway, we weren't exactly one of the richer Districts, but there were definitely certain benefits to living in Six. The relatively small Peacekeeper presence means that our newspaper faces a lot less scrutiny than it might in other Districts. This, of course, was a great thing given that the paper served as a seditious medium for Six's rebel network. On the surface, it was a bona fide paper that anyone could read for the daily (albeit heavily filtered) news, but encrypted within the text were vital rebel messages that could only be read with the deciphering code.

Our paper had been popular for a while now, with subscribers that live in all corners of the District. My brother Courier (what a name my parents chose for him), Kenny, and myself were responsible for delivering the paper to the subscribers, a task that would begin after school ended and last until dinnertime. Whenever we could, we'd take advantage of the District's relatively flat rooftops to save time.

"So how many do we have left?" I ask.

"Nine. Just two in this block and another seven in Worthington."

Ah, Worthington Towers. What a mess that place was. It was two identical-looking buildings, both 15 stories tall and occupied by Six's poorest, a majority of whom were Morph addicts. Even so, we have a few subscribers that live there, and as I always say, every subscriber matters.

* * *

Jaguar Wallace

District 6 Male

18 Years Old

I never knew my father.

But that was hardly an uncommon circumstance in Six, and I never gave it much thought. I just accepted that I'd only ever know one of my parents.

She was a great one though. Never smiled much, and perpetually had a look of weariness on her face (which she attributed to the exhaustion of work), but she was deeply caring and always put the needs of me and my three brothers ahead of her own. She had raised us singlehandedly until I started working as a mechanic at TH-47 (Transportation Hub No. 47) this past year.

Interestingly, though, she would always tell us about how awful her father was and make us promise to never become like him. Apparently, he runs a Morph empire throughout the District, which generated enough money for him to pay off the mayor and a good half of the Peacekeepers too, allowing him to further his operations with impunity. As I grew older and enquired more about this evil grandfather, my mother reluctantly told me that he also ran an extensive prostitution ring.

And then came the day I found out.

You see, my mother didn't just resent him for his illicit activities, but because she herself was a victim of his criminal enterprise. I had seen her on the street late one night when I was returning from a friend's apartment. I remember hiding behind a dumpster and peering over it to see what she was up to at such an hour. Based on the time, her questionably "minimalist" attire, and the way she interacted with a man who approached her and led her away, it did not take long for me to realize exactly what was going on.

I recall the rage, the disappointment, the disgust I felt at that moment. I tried my best to convince myself that it wasn't what it seemed, or maybe it was a case of mistaken identity, but ultimately to no avail. This was real, and I had to talk to her about it.

When she came down the hall to the kitchen the very next morning, I was there, sitting patiently at our flimsy dining table. She had always been an early riser, a particularly helpful habit in this scenario, since it meant that my three brothers were still sound asleep in their shared bedroom.

In the long, emotional, and uncomfortable talk that we had, she revealed that her father had forced into the life when she was 16, and that she didn't want to give up any of the four children she had over the years. After she left her father's home, she had to raise her children on her own, with this being the only thing she knew how to do.

Over time, the initial shock of my newly acquired knowledge wore off, to be replaced by a deep appreciation of my mother's unparalleled love for us. Who knows how much she has suffered through in order that the four of us be clothed and fed? Despite my stoic reputation, this thought has often driven me to the verge of tears on those late frigid nights when I hear the apartment door close, signaling my mother's departure into that shady, unforgiving underworld.

But it also strengthened my resolve and duty to my family. I would work even harder and make my way up the totem pole at the hub, so that my mother could leave that life and start anew. She was only 35 years old anyway. Plus, the eldest of my younger brothers, Aston, has always wanted to be a mechanic and will start working within two years.

And so, times were certainly not easy, but I had a feeling they'd be getting better soon.

* * *

Lynn Stackker

District 6 Female

16 Years Old

"Hey, wake up. Reaping's today, remember?"

I open my eyes ever so slightly and see Courier standing in the doorway. I sit up, feeling a bit sore in the legs after climbing all those stairs in Worthington the day before (one of the towers had no working elevators that day).

"Uh, yeah. I knew that. Obviously."

He scoffs. "Whatever. Just hurry up, breakfast's ready."

I guess I just never worried too much about Reaping day. Given our population size, the chances of the average kid being randomly selected in Six was much lower than in any other District. And unlike many others in the District, I never had to take out any tesserae, which definitely helped. After all, the success of my parents' newspaper business allowed us to make a decent living for ourselves – we lived in one of the better neighborhoods of the District, and food was almost never an issue for us.

I quickly threw on a slate grey dress from my closet and rushed downstairs. I never cared about what I wore anyway (since things tend to get messy when you're running all over the District delivering newspapers), but it was customary to look a little nicer for Reaping Day.

After gulping down my breakfast, I join Courier at the front door, who's been waiting rather impatiently. "Let's go," he says, "We don't wanna be late to this kinda thing."

"Oh come on, we're fine," I reply, "At most we'll miss some of the mayor's boring-ass speech. Plus, what are they gonna do to us for being a bit late? Send us to the Games?"

He shakes his head as he's leaving out the door, but I can tell he's smiling.

Around 25 minutes of speed-walking, we reach the colossal structure that is Crane Amphitheater. Named after Seneca Crane, one of the most successful Head Gamemakers of all time, this place is where we hold the annual Reapings, to accommodate the sheer number of those eligible in Six.

"Hey, I'll see you in a bit," Courier calls to me as he heads off in the direction of the line for the boys' section.

I casually wave to him and begin scanning my surroundings for Kenny. Her actual name was Kenndyl, but she always thought it sounded too pretentious and preferred "Kenny" instead. We've been best friends since we were both 11, and she now joins me every day in our paper route.

I spot her by a lamppost near the center of the square, wearing her bold blue eyeshadow. _That's definitely her_ , I thought to myself. I wave to her.

"A little late, aren't ya?" She shouts as I begin to make my way over.

"Oh save it!" I yell back.

The line is relatively short now, and it doesn't take before we get into the amphitheater and locate the 16-year-old girls section right as the mayor begins his speech. Those eligible for the Reaping took their seats on the field

I zone out through most of the mayor's monotonous speech, as well as the short Capitol propaganda clip that plays right after. It's the accented voice of our escort, Lavinia Auburn, that snaps me back to reality.

"Hello everyone. I hope the journey here went smoothly for all of you. Let's get straight to it, shall we? Ladies first."

For an escort she was definitely one of the less overwhelming and more normal ones, being rather straight-to-business and concise with her words.

She reaches her gloved hand into the girls' Reaping bowl and picks out a slip. The sound of her unfolding the slip is amplified by the microphone and projected over the dead-silent crowd.

She clears her voice and reads.

"Lynn Stackker."

I freeze.

In that moment it was as if my mind was a dam, holding back a trillion thoughts that threatened to break free. Tears welled up in my eyes and blurred my vision, but I could see some of those around me sneaking glances my way, others desperate to avoid any eye contact with me. I turn to my right and look at Kenny, whose normally cheery face was now adorned with trails of tears mixed with eyeshadow.

"I'm so sorry," she says to me in a near-whisper.

By now, the Peacekeepers were made aware of my location and begin marching towards me. I knew I couldn't fully react here. Not now. I brushed away my tears with a trembling hand and began to make my way towards the stage, right as two Peacekeepers reached the row I was sitting in.

Lavinia helped me onto the stage before moving on the boys' Reaping. She speaks into the mic, but it's all muffled to me. There was only one thought that consumed my mind.

 _I was going to die._

* * *

Jaguar Wallace

District 6 Male

18 Years Old

"Jaguar Wallace," Lavinia reads out.

Well shit. I guess I never gave much thought to the possibility of being Reaped. Thanks to my mother, my brothers and I have never had to take out any tesserae.

Needless to say, this was bad. Very bad. But now wasn't the time to dwell on it. I had to make way up that stage.

I let out a sigh but maintain a relatively expressionless face as I step out into the aisle. The 18-year-olds sat closest to the stage, so it was only a short trek, even under these circumstances.

When I reach my destination, Lavinia flashes a polite smile in my direction before turning back to the microphone and continuing.

"Ladies and gentlemen, let's give a round of applause to your Tributes for the 87th Hunger Games!"

A deafening roar overcomes the amphitheater as the crowd rise to their feet. It was a tradition in Six to produce a vigorous round of applause, not out of celebration, but in an effort to encourage the Tributes and show support.

I look across the stage at the girl. She was short, perhaps just a few inches over five feet, but appeared to be in good physical shape. Her brown hair was pulled back into a short ponytail that barely reached her shoulders. She wasn't crying now, but I could tell that she had been.

They take us by car to the Justice Building, which was only five or so minutes away. My District partner keeps her face buried in her hands through the ride.

When we arrive, they put us into separate rooms that contain nothing but a table and a handful of old chairs. Only a few seconds pass before the door opens.

It was my mother, followed by Aston and my younger twin brothers, Tang and Mas.

She runs forward and hugs me tightly, tears streaming down her face. "Please, Jag. You need to do everything you can to come back to us. I just I can't believe this is happening. I wish we had more time..."

"I will, ma, I will. Trust me. I'd do anything. You know I would."

I turn to Aston. "Hey bud. Take care of 'em for me when I'm away, alright? You're strong. You can do it."

"We're gonna miss you, Jag," he says, "Please find a way to come home. You've got a good chance. You really do."

I nod and give Tang and Mas a hug as well. "Listen, you guys behave, ok? Help ma and Aston out when they need it."

The door flies open and a Peacekeeper barges in. "Time's up. Let's go."

As they head out the door, Tang and Mas wave goodbye to me. I force a smile and wave back to them, knowing fully well that it would most likely be the last time I see them.

As we ride in the car en route to the train station, the girl sits in silence, staring pensively out the window. I do the same, thinking about what Aston said to me back in the Justice Building.

I guess I do have a good chance. Years of physical work have kept me in good shape and decently strong. I could also read people relatively well, especially when they were lying.

But then I think about what being a Victor meant. My mother and brothers would be easily taken care of for the rest of their lives. They could live in the Victor's Village and have access to things we never would've dreamed of. Not only that, but with my influence as a Victor, I'd put an end to my grandfather's criminal empire. It wouldn't be too difficult, I imagine, given that in many cases, he's been operating more-or-less in plain sight, having paid off the relevant parties to ensure that his operations wouldn't be disturbed. But if an Hunger Games Victor were to call him out… Let's just say, it'd be a lot harder to get out of that one.

There is so much more on the line than just my own survival. When I enter the Arena, the thought of my family back home would burn as a motivating fire in me, pushing me to do whatever I had to in order to find my way back to Six.

I would need some allies, people I could genuinely trust, at least to get through the early stages of the Games, especially the unpredictable Bloodbath. And who better to start with than the girl sitting next to me?

* * *

AN: Thanks so much to those who submitted these two Tributes. I honestly really enjoyed writing both of them.

So what are your thoughts on our first two Tributes? Thoughts on the writing itself? Whatever you have to say, please leave a review (I read every single one of them, seriously).

I realize that there's a lot of exposition/setting-the-scene in these chapters, which I feel is necessary in order to make each District unique, and to make the story feel more coherent.

Also, we are assuming that the lore/history is the same as the books up until the 74th Games.

There are still quite a few spots left in the story, so please, if you're interested, submit! I'm very flexible and have accepted at least one Tribute from every user who's submitted!


	4. Guardian (D4)

**AN: And now for some "Career" Tributes… Thanks for these two, and I hope you enjoy!**

* * *

Bean Olas

District 4 Female

14 Years Old

Nothing could replace it.

The excitement, the freedom, the escape. I'd forget how some of the girls at school seemed to be gossiping about me lately. I'd forget that my parents died last year in a boating accident. I'd forget about all the gruesome things I've seen in the Hunger Games videos that we had to watch every single day.

It was just me and my surfboard, riding the waves under the cerulean sky.

Oh, and my best friend Coral usually comes along too.

I maintain my balance as the waves carry me closer to the shoreline. I see Coral standing with her board on the beach, waving at me vigorously.

She greets me with a wide smile as I make my way out of the water. "See, what did I tell ya? We haven't had waves like these since last year!"

"You're so right," I reply, "Everything was just amazing today."

"So, whatchu up to later?" She asks as we begin our walk home.

Home was actually the DSA (District Select Academy), which was the cover name for the place where they trained Careers in Four. My brother Poco and I enrolled there after my parents died. Thanks to our pastime of swimming and surfing, we were able to pass the fitness test required to join.

"Eh, not much really. I'm probably gonna go to sleep early for the Reaping tomorrow. Wouldn't wanna fall asleep during the Reaping!" I answer.

"Nothing says Sunday morning like having to sit through a boring-ass Reaping. You know who ended up being selected?"

"I'm pretty sure it's Delaney and Lysander."

"Ugh," Coral utters with a face of exaggerated disgust, "They both annoy me."

Only 17- and 18-year-olds were allowed to go to the trials, which is a long and drawn-out evaluation process that has each candidate judged on a variety of areas by the DSA trainers. Poco had actually placed second, while heartthrob Lysander Tyrrell finished on top. It was hardly a surprise to anyone – he was incredible with throwing spears, confident to a fault, and absolutely gorgeous. Yes, I admit it, but I don't appreciate his arrogance. He isn't a nice person at all.

"So Bean, I've _heard_ …" Coral begins with her classic gossipy tone, "…that Leo's had a crush on you for the better half of a year. But! Thanks to your brother, he's now dating Clair."

I sigh. "What did he do this time?"

"Well, he didn't actually have to do anything this time. I mean, let's face it. You're hot. A lotta guys are gonna go after you. But once a certain number of them gets beat up, they get the message. You're just off-limits."

 _So this is what all the gossiping's been about_ , I think to myself. Yeah, my brother's like that. Always has been really. That giant scar that goes down his right forearm was actually from one of those fights.

Coral continues. "You know, you should talk to him about that. You're 14 now! You should, like, be allowed to make your own choices."

"Yeah, maybe. But as you can probably guess, he's not exactly easily persuaded…"

* * *

Poco Olas

District 4 Male

17 Years Old

I lie on my steel-frame bed, staring up at the fluorescent tube light on the ceiling, going over the events of the day in my head.

I heard that Leo kid was now going out with some other girl. Good.

Just a few days ago I saw him in the hallway, desperately trying to avoid eye contact with me. Seems like they all get the point by now – Stay. Away. From. Her.

Back in the day I had to actually convince them with physical means, if you will. The long scar down my right arm bears testament to that.

I also remind myself that the Reaping's tomorrow. The "Reaping."

It'd be pretty uneventful, I imagine. There weren't that many candidates in the trials this year, and many of them only did it because they were pressured to by the trainers.

Can't blame 'em. Last year, during the 86th Games, the Careers were largely screwed over by the Gamemakers, to the point that they'd be specially targeted by nearly impossible-to-defeat Mutts. Half of the Career pack was basically assassinated by the Gamemakers, never given a real chance at glory. Think about this: years (usually over a decade) of intensive training – honing your skills, building up your physicality, even sharpening your ability to gain sponsors – all for what? So you can get killed by some ridiculous Mutt on day two of the Games? All of us here at the DSA saw it as a direct attack on the Career Districts, the Career lifestyle, perhaps indicative of the way that Head Gamemaker Ellsworth viewed Careers. So yeah, the lack of enthusiasm this year doesn't surprise me at all.

Nonetheless, we ended up with two high-quality Tributes that were to volunteer this year. Delaney St. Gallen and Lysander Tyrrell were really similar to each other – extremely confident, deadly, and attractive.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of a door opening across the hallway. Bean must've just gotten back.

She and I have been on our own ever since our parents' boating accident last year. We signed up to join the DSA almost immediately afterwards. All we had to do get in was pass an easy fitness test. It was no problem thanks to all the time we spent as kids surfing and swimming.

I became acclimated to the way of life here relatively quickly, but I couldn't say the same for Bean. You see, she simply wasn't cut out for this. She was too nice, and too gentle.

She had good reaction time, but didn't fare well in any of the combat-related areas, since she didn't dare to hit any of the other Tributes too hard during practice. The DSA was rather barebones, and so a lot of the training involved hand-to-hand drills.

We also had to watch footage of previous Games as part of our daily training. During these screenings, I noticed that Bean would always sit in the back and surreptitiously avoid watching the most violent parts.

She did well in many non-combat fields though, such as knot-tying and fire-making, things that the other trainees tended to pay little attention to. Most impressive of all, however, was her swimming ability – from what I've heard, she's by far the fastest swimmer in her age-group.

She's a kind and innocent creature, and her innocence was worth protecting. She is also the only family I have left, and I know that I would do anything to keep her from harm. _Anything_.

* * *

Bean Olas

District 4 Female

14 Years Old

Our District square would not win any awards for its design. It was located at Port Odair, the largest harbor in the District (named after the legendary Victor of the 65th Games), and featured a crude-looking metal roof that covered the entirety of the assembly area.

On this day, like any other Reaping day, the eligible children of Four would pack into the square, but without the atmosphere of fear found at most other Districts' Reapings. Thanks to the DSA, there would always be one male and one female Tribute selected to volunteer each year, so everyone could relax.

Apparently, interest in being selected this year was at an all-time low. I think it had something to do with the Careers not doing well in the last Games…

Anyway, Delaney and Lysander were awesome Tributes. And with their looks, they'd definitely have no problems in gaining sponsors either.

Our escort Antonia Crassus, wearing an elaborate magenta dress, takes to the microphone.

"Hello District Four! How are you all today?"

Scattered responses rang out from the crowd. Reapings were a lighthearted event here, and so we didn't give escorts the silent treatment that the non-Career Districts would.

"As you all know, this is now my fifth year as your escort, and I simply couldn't ask for a better District to work with!"

The crowd cheers before she continues, "So let's get to it, shall we?"

She strides over to the girls Reaping bowl and picks out a slip.

"Bean Olas."

 _Heh. What were the odds of that?_

"Volunteers?" Antonia asks. By this point she was very much used to the way things worked around here. There were volunteers each and every year, and she had no reason to think otherwise today.

* * *

Poco Olas

District 4 Male

17 Years Old

Interestingly enough, Bean's name was picked out of the bowl. It didn't matter anyway. The selected Tribute would usually volunteer before Antonia even finished reading the name.

I guess Delaney wasn't going to be that enthusiastic this year. Oh well.

Silence overcomes the square as we all await the expected.

Anytime now.

People are looking around. All our heads in the boys' section were turned towards the girls' section.

A feeling of dread courses through me. I shout, "Well get on with it, Delaney. We haven't got all day!"

There's a lot of murmuring, but no one steps up. _The fuck is this?_

"Well that's alright," Antonia continues, visibly confused, "Do come up to the stage, Ms. Olas."

 _No no no no no. This cannot possibly be happening. Where was Delaney? Why didn't someone else just volunteer?_

Bean is now onstage next to Antonia, with a look of pure anxiety on her face. It takes all of my strength to stand there in silence, just so I don't risk being taken away by the Peacekeepers.

"Welcome, darling," Antonia gushes, "Aren't you just beautiful! Let's all have a round of applause for our female Tribute."

The feeling of rage inside me made it hard to hear anything, but I could see that Antonia was now walking towards the boys' Reaping bowl.

She picks out a slip and starts to read out the name before words "I volunteer!" escape from my lips.

It takes me a second to realize that Lysander had said it at the same time I did. And now the others in the square were all staring at either one of us.

"The hell are you doing, Olas?" Lysander shouts, "Sit your ass down and wait for next year."

I ignore him and begin making my way to the stage. I know exactly what he's going to do.

Predictably enough, he steps out into the central aisle and aims a powerful swing at my head. So I duck, and counter with a low jab to his stomach region.

I block a follow-up blow, before hitting back, targeting his face. Whatever he was feeling at the moment could not possibly compare to the pure anger that ran through my veins.

At some point in the struggle he catches me in the jaw, and I stagger back. He then charges towards me (again, predictably), allowing me to sidestep and trip him. As he's turning back around to face me, I pull my right arm back and swing it at him with a fiery cry.

Peacekeepers come and carry Lysander's unconscious body away as I join Antonia and Bean on the stage. Antonia is visibly shocked by what just happened, but she regains her composure and asks, "And what is your name, dear?"

"Poco. Poco Olas," I answer into the microphone.

"You must be her brother then. O how noble! Ladies and gentlemen, please – a round of applause for your male Tribute!"

A loud round of applause erupts from the crowd, though I could see the frowns on the faces of some of the DSA trainees.

The goodbyes were uneventful. Just some of my friends at the DSA who wished me luck, and some of the trainers who knew me well. But I could care less what they all had to say.

I was now hurrying towards the fancy car that would bring us to the train station on the other side of the District. I could see Bean sitting in the back.

"I can't believe you just did that," she says to me as I get in.

"Well, what I supposed to do?" I reply, "I sure as hell wasn't going to let you go in on your own. And you can't trust Lysander. He's see you as easy pickings and kill you whenever it'd be convenient for him, that pompous little shit."

"But you do realize that only one of us can make it back, right?"

"If I can help it, it's going to be you. Listen. You're the only one I have left… The only person I truly, truly, care about, and I would do _anything_ to protect you. That's just how I am. You have so much to offer this world and you deserve to live a long and happy life. If you're gone, then… How could I live with myself? What would mom and dad think?"

She was now in tears and I couldn't help but think that even at this point, she was more concerned with the fact that I had volunteered than the fact that she herself was being sent into this deathmatch.

* * *

Bean Olas

District 4 Female

14 Years Old

Poco slides over to the middle seat and puts his arm around me as tears continue to fall down my face.

Things had turned so quickly in the last 24 hours. Would I ever surf again? Would I ever see Coral again?

Poco breaks the silence. "You know, I tanked the last part of the trials."

I look up at him.

"I was ahead of Lysander on overall scoring," he continues, "All the way up until the archery and throwing knives. I missed some targets on purpose. I didn't actually want to go to the Games."

"You're better than Lysander then. That should make up for the Reaping day drama… So what's our plan, now that we're in this mess?"

"We'll have to stick with the other Careers for a time. But as soon we smell any trouble, we'll get outta there. They're usually fine to work with for at least the first week or so."

"I guess I can probably help with getting sponsors…" I begin, "I mean, people will probably feel bad for me, right?"

"Yeah. And they should. So many people are to blame for this. Delaney for turning back on her selection as Volunteer, the DSA for not having a system of backup Volunteers, Head Gamemaker Ellsworth for what he did to the Careers last year, and President Greenleaf for hiring that imbecile in the first place."

Luckily for him, the back of these cars was soundproofed from the driver. The escort normally rode with the Tributes, but Antonia offered to take another car so Poco and I could speak in private.

"But anyway," he continues, "Sorry for the rant. Just be yourself. The Capitol will like you. A lot."

Our chances were pretty good, I'd say. Poco was a well-trained combatant and I was pretty good with some of the survival stuff, not to mention my swimming ability, assuming that there's swimmable water in this year's Arena. We'd use to the Career pack to get through the first few days and then go from there.

I catch Poco with a hug, which surprises him.

"Let's give it all we got," I say.

* * *

 **AN: I hope you liked the chapter. I try to vary the writing style a little since it's all first-person POV, in order to better match the kind of Tribute we're dealing with.**

 **What do you think of these Tributes? Please review, even if it's a short one. It lets me know that you're following the story, and it can help me improve it.**

 **Not all introduction chapters will be like this, as in they might take place over different timeframes in order to keep the plot moving (i.e. they won't always be parallel, like pre-Reaping, Reaping, goodbyes, car ride, etc.).**

 **And to anyone who's wondering about the 74th Games, don't worry. That'll be brought up later in the story!**

 **Also, there's still a few spots left, so please submit a Tribute if you like the story!**


	5. Apparent Mismatch (D10)

**AN: Sorry about last week – I was very busy with writing a paper. Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chapter. Thanks for these two wonderful Tributes.**

* * *

Aneira Lenny

District 10 Female

18 Years Old

I bring down the old cleaver, which cuts through the bone and hits the wood of the butcher's table.

I toss the two cuts onto the growing stack at my right, which now had enough meat for maybe another two days.

Feeling satisfied enough, I take off the massive apron, originally white but reddened with blood over the years. Now I just have to move the cattle back to the corral and work would be done for the day.

Stepping outside, I notice that the sun was beginning to dip below the horizon. Looking across the field at our house, I see my older sisters Brynn and Bronwen calling my five younger brothers to go inside.

I approach the scattered herd of cattle and begin to walk in a slight arc, zigzagging back-and-forth in order to gradually move the bulk of the herd towards the corral.

 _Mosquitoes are out in full force today_ , I think to myself as I swat one against my forearm.

But it didn't bother me too much. Things have been like this for a while now, ever since father passed away a few months ago. My five brothers, ages ranging from 6 months to 6 years old, required the full attention of my mother. My sisters would help her, since doing outdoor farm-work was the last thing on their minds. And so, I'm usually out here alone, milking the cows, moving the cattle, collecting the eggs, and when necessary, slaughtering the animals. But there were benefits to this line of work. Namely, the animals were relatively stable and predictable – you could get them to do what you wanted them to, as long you used the right technique. And the animals never judged anyone for, say, their broad shoulders, thick limbs, and generally "unfeminine" demeanor.

And best of all, animals don't talk.

* * *

Dexter Normande

District 10 Male

12 Years Old

"Crap. It's still too high. Try changing the coefficients again."

"Dex, we've already tried that. Three times now."

"Just one more time, Richie, _please_?"

He sighs, turns back towards the monitor, and starts typing in numbers again.

"You know, 7.6% error isn't that bad at all. We've been trying the same thing for 20 minutes now," he says.

"We can do better. I know we can," I reply.

"Alright. Last time. Go ahead and flip the switch."

I reach over to the circuit board to do just that, which allows the capacitor to charge up. Another flip of the switch allows it to discharge. Graphs of voltage and current and then generated by the computer.

"What's the new time constant?" I ask Richie once the data collection finishes.

"8 seconds," he says, punching numbers into the calculator, "Which gives us… 7.1% error. Dammit!"

I sigh as a feeling of intense disappointment runs through me. Richie throws the calculator down onto the table.

"That's the best we can do," Richie says, "Come on, let's go. Time's up anyway."

We turn in the assignment and begin to walk to hall. I don't say anything until we turn the corner.

"You know," I begin, "I just don't understand what we did wrong. We tried a whole bunch of values for the equation. I mean, the circuit was definitely built correctly. I just don't get it. We should've gotten something less than 5%. I saw some other group-"

"Look, Dex," Richie cuts in, "Not everything has to be perfect. Sometimes you just gotta say 'this is good enough' and move on with your life."

There was no point in arguing about this now, so I stay quiet until we reach the front of the school, where we start walking in opposite directions to get home.

Richie waves to me. "See ya at the Reaping tomorrow!"

I wave back to him silently. _Perfect. Just what I wanted to be reminded of right now._

We were pretty different in many ways, but Richie (his full name is actually Richmond, but he hates it) has always been a great friend to me. We were both studying to become engineers one day, which was not exactly a common career path in Ten. And that's how we met too – in the accelerated program at the school for students who are viewed as having especially high potential.

Aunt Lily's busy in the kitchen as I walk through the front door.

"Hi Dex. How was school?" She calls to me as she's swatting her hands around, "These darn mosquitoes have been crazy this season!"

"Fine," I answer enthusiastically.

"You don't sound like it. What's been bothering you?"

"Just this lab activity we did at the end of the day…" I reply, "That and the Reaping tomorrow, of course."

"Oh honey, you don't need to worry about that. It's your first year after all. And even with those tesserae you took out, your name's only in there three times. Think about some of those 18-year-olds with huge families… Their names are probably in there dozens of times."

Aunt Lily's been caring for me for as long as I could remember. I never knew either of my actual parents, but she tells me that my father was never around and my mother died when I was less than a year old. Whenever I did ask about my mother though, Aunt Lily would just change the topic, so I eventually stopped bothering with it.

* * *

Aneira Lenny

District 10 Female

18 Years Old

As I enter the our somewhat decrepit house, I am immediately hit by a cacophony of noise. My brothers are chasing each other all around the place, while Bronwen tries to control them. Brynn's at the stove trying to help mother finish preparing our supper.

Bronwen pinches her nose as I walk in, "Eww, you kinda smell. No offense."

"If only the animals used as much perfume as you," I reply flatly.

She gives me a dirty look as I begin heading up the creaky staircase, wondering if the hot water was working today. (The chances were about 50:50.)

Luckily for me, it would be one of the functional days today.

As I settle into the bath, I begin to think about the Reaping tomorrow. I guess I never got too worked up about it. It's become just another part of life here in the Districts. Has been for a while, and probably will be for a while too.

I realize that I haven't been keeping great track of the tesserae I've been taking out this past year, but I was pretty sure my name would be in there at least six times. You see, our livelihood is built on livestock, but we're not allowed to keep that much of it to eat for ourselves. And with eight children in the household, the supply is often stretched, so my sisters and I (mostly myself to be honest) need to take out tesserae from time to time.

My thoughts are interrupted by the sound of mother calling up to me. Supper was ready.

I grab one of the towels (which is threatening to break up into several smaller pieces) and dry myself off quickly before heading back downstairs.

We didn't have a large enough table for everyone, so the oldest four of my brothers sit at their own table while 6-month-old Aerin sits with mother, Bronwen, Brynn, and myself at the other.

"So…" Brynn begins in her usual dramatic fashion, "I met this guy at the market the other day. Reaaally hot. Like 10/10. He asked me to dinner at one of the places downtown…"

I mentally tune out the rest of Brynn's "story." I've heard enough of these from the two of them over the years. Didn't get any less boring since.

I'm focusing on eating when mother asks me how my day was.

"Uh, fine. Just the usual."

There's an awkward pause at our table while the lively atmosphere at the brothers' table continues to fill the room.

Bronwen breaks the silence by starting a conversation on makeup and perfume (which we barely had any money for), resulting in me tuning them out once again.

* * *

Dexter Normande

District 10 Male

12 Years Old

As I stand next to Richie in the square, I keep thinking of the breakfast Aunt Lily prepared for me this morning. Sure, it was just bacon and eggs, but it meant a lot to me. Neither of us have eaten any meat in about a week and a half. Too expensive nowadays. Funny for a District that specializes in livestock.

The square is situated in a large, open, and somewhat dusty area, with some small barriers set up to divide the age groups. Much of the square's concrete was cracked, mirroring the similarly worn-down look of our Justice Building. If you were at the edges of the square, you could see the beautiful open plains that make up most of our rural District, dotted with grazing animals and farmhouses that were old but quaint.

Our Escort, Egeria Harpswell, says a few introductory words and plays the customary Reaping video.

I've always wondered, why did the Capitol use the Hunger Games after all these years? From their perspective, it seems like it'd be a decent idea for the first few years, when many of the rebels' children were still of Reaping age or would grow into it. But now, with the 87th edition of the Games this year, the connection with the Rebellion was growing weak – almost everyone associated with the rebellion was dead by now, and the parents whose children were being Reaped today had nothing to do with the Rebellion at all. If anything, keeping the Hunger Games for so many years has probably fueled rebel activities nowadays. It gives the rebels something substantial to rally around – a unifying goal of sorts.

As I'm dwelling on all this, I notice that Egeria has already taken to the female Reaping bowl.

She enunciates the name, "Aneira Lenny."

A very tall (easily over 6ft) and well-built girl walks out from the 18-year-olds section. Her arms and neck were especially thick, leading me to guess that she'd been doing a lot of manual labor over the years. Her long brown hair was tied in a somewhat messy ponytail. She had sharp, manly facial features and wore a cold, unfriendly expression. Needless to say, I was thoroughly intimidated by her.

She'd be tough competition for sure, and I kind of felt bad for whoever was going to be her District partner.

* * *

Aneira Lenny

District 10 Female

18 Years Old

So, I was just Reaped.

And now I need to kill to be one of 24 Tributes who will make it home. An unfortunate situation, but a manageable one. I didn't have to kill that many people, maybe just two or three out of self-defense. There were others that would be far more eager to shed blood, like the egotists from One or the crazies from Two. I just needed to survive on my own long enough.

I had practical skills from the work I do, namely preparing meat. The work has also made me strong over the years, and I've grown comfortable with a butcher knife (or something similar) in my hands. I reckon the odds were pretty good for me.

I'm thinking through all of this when Egeria is about to read the name from the male Reaping bowl.

She clears her throat.

"Dexter Normande."

A scrawny boy with dark skin and curly black hair emerges from the 12-year-olds section.

 _Well, he's not going to be very useful. At least I won't have to be wary of him._

He was definitely afraid, based on the look he had on his face. And he had every right to be. He was just a small kid, and I doubt he had any practical skills given his age.

I wouldn't want to kill him, but I also couldn't ally myself with him. I'd simply be too vulnerable.

After all, only one of the 24 Tributes would leave the Arena alive.

The rest were headed for slaughter.

* * *

 **AN: So what do you think of these two? Please leave a review! It really helps me going forward and lets me know that you're reading. I read every single one carefully.**

 **There are still 2 or 3 spots open, so do consider submitting a Tribute if you like the story. And if you've already submitted one, you could always go for a second!**


	6. Solo (D5)

**AN: Thanks for these two. I had a great time writing both POVs.**

* * *

Cassie Gammon

District 5 Female

15 Years Old

Days like these were nice. You have the sun shining in a cloudless sky, a gentle spring breeze blowing at just the right temperature. Any, if it's quiet enough, you can even here the soft but powerful rumbling of water coming from the Dam, where my stepfather Daniel works as an electrical engineer.

You had to be one of the best to land a position there. After all, it produced a massive chunk of Five's total energy output, and the Capitol wouldn't want anyone but the best to watch over it.

It made sense. Electricity was absolutely crucial to the Capitol, perhaps more so than anything else produced by the Districts. After all, in the event of a power outage, their advanced defense systems would probably be seriously compromised.

And that is likely why they do their part in making sure people are relatively happy here. As a result, we're one of the wealthiest Districts in Panem.

Now that's a major reason why I'm not too worried about over the Reaping tomorrow. My two siblings and I have never had to take out any tesserae ever.

I am, however, slightly worried about what will happen in the next few hours.

In my backpack right now was an orange envelope. Inside this envelope is the BPC (or biannual progress card), a detailed report of how I was doing in school so far this year. And let's just say my grades aren't fantastic. Or good.

Or even average…

See, I have insanely smart parents, and we live in a technology-centered District. Stepdad's a senior engineer at the Dam. Mom's a lead surgeon at the District Hospital. Naturally, they want their kids to be like them too – very academic.

Well, at least two of their kids were like that. My older brother Greg is into holography R&D and is already climbing the ladder. "It's a very saturated field. Very competitive," he'd always say. Blah blah blah, you're smart, we get it.

My older sister Fiona's currently studying law and is apparently very good at it. Then again, I never understood the point of going into law here in the Districts. The Capitol always has the final say, and they routinely make changes to the law on a whim. Oh well, gotta keep up the illusion I guess.

I finally make the turn onto our quiet little street. Unlike most other Districts, some of the houses in Five were single-family homes with some land attached to each. My parents' positions meant that we were lucky enough to live in one of them.

I have a few hours before my parents come home (they always remember BPC day), well enough for me to plan out what I would say for myself.

But then again, I'll probably just wing it.

* * *

Amell Maeda

District 5 Male

13 Years Old

I still remember it. I remember it like it was yesterday. They say it happened three years ago, but that doesn't matter. For me, it happens almost every night.

I hear their screams. I hear the screams stop.

I see the man. I see his knife, with thick drops of blood falling from the tip as he walks towards me.

I feel myself scream. I see him charge towards me. I grab the ceramic lamp and try to hit him with it, but he brings his knife down into my right arm. Blood comes pouring out, falling down my arm to my hands.

Some nights I wake up then, covered in sweat and breathing rapidly. On other nights I lie there on the floor helplessly as he watches over me.

And he begins to smile. Wider and wider. And even wider as his cheeks rip open like fabric to extend his demonic smile.

When I do wake up, it's a reminder that I didn't die that day. I couldn't join my parents after all.

My sister Mai had hit the man over the head with my father's bass. He lied there, unconscious, until the Peacekeepers came and took him away. They shot him in the Square later that day.

So yes, he was dead. But what difference did it make to me?

* * *

"You need to stop pulling shit like that," Mai says to me in a stern voice. It's morning of Reaping Day, and we're in our cramped apartment, sitting across from each other at a miniscule table, with a few very basic breakfast items laid out before us. The table's surface is not levelled (since one of the legs was damaged a while ago) and an orange rolls off of it onto the floor.

"He could've hurt us, you know. Badly," I reply as I bend down to pick it up.

"Well, he didn't. Just like all the other people you don't trust. Which, by the way, is practically everybody!"

"It's not like I attacked him or anyth–"

"You stood outside my bedroom with a kitchen knife, Amell. He was just trying to use the bathroom and you scared the hell out of him. He even left his jacket on my dresser and never came back to get it."

"Look, I'm sorry Mai. I- I just wanted to make sure. I don't want to lose you too."

Her expression softens, "It's alright. I get it. I don't want to lose you either. But just try to relax a little in the future, ok? You know I'm looking for someone that can help take care of us."

I nod.

 _You don't need to apologize. You were being safe, looking out for both yourself and Mai. Who knew who that guy was? Who knew if he could be trusted or not? You did the right thing, Amell. For all we know, he was planning on killing her, but stopped once he saw you in the hallway._

"You know Amell," Mai continues, "I've been worried about you. You don't really talk to anyone any more. You spend a lot of time alone. Maybe we should get you some help…"

 _Ha! There's nothing wrong with you. Maybe she's the one that needs help, bringing all these potentially dangerous strangers back home. Any one of them could've killed both of you._

"I'm fine Mai. I promise," I assure her, "I just need some time. It'll get better."

 _Good excuse Amell. Just get her off your back for now._

"Alright. But if you ever change your mind, I can take you to the hospital and have you looked at."

"Ok. Thanks Mai," I say with a smile.

She glances at the clock on the wall. "We should get going. Don't wanna be late to this."

As we're walking toward the elevators, I ask her one more thing.

"Hey Mai?"

"Yeah?"

"You do still miss them, right?"

"Of course I do, Amell. Every single day."

* * *

Cassie Gammon

District 5 Female

15 Years Old

"This isn't good, you know that, right?" my mother scolds, "What's worse is I _know_ you're capable of it. You're just not applying yourself. You never did. Why, Cassie?"

I shrug. "I don't know. Guess I'm just naturally uninterested in this stuff. Books and essays and exams… they're just not my thing…"

"Naturally uninterested?!" she shouts. "Daniel, say something."

"Your mother's right, kiddo," he says nonchalantly, never taking his eyes off the scientific papers laid out in front of him.

My mother groans in frustration. "Anyway Cassie, the bottom line is this: you're already 15 years old. You need to start trying. You can't be so laidback all the time."

"Well on the bright side," I say cheerfully in an attempt to change the tone of the conversation, "I was named student athlete of the month… again."

"Right, and what kind of job will track and field land you? Or softball? Or volleyball? We're talking about your future here, Cassie. Why can't you be more like your brother and sister!"

"Look, mom," I reply with growing impatience, "I'm just not cut out for academics. That isn't who I am. It might be who you and Daniel are, it might be who Greg and Fiona are, but it's not _me_. And that isn't going to change."

Before she has a chance to reply, I'm already storming up the stairs back to my room. Something like this would happen almost every time we got our BPCs, but that didn't make it easier. All I want is for my parents to understand and appreciate my own abilities for what they are. For example, I will never be as book-smart as Greg or Fiona, but I can read people very well and think on my feet.

I'm quiet during supper that evening. Greg and Fiona again dominate the conversation with anecdotes about their work and whatnot. Pretty funny considering you could hardly get me to shut up when I'm out with my friends.

I go to bed early, deciding that I'd try doing my homework tomorrow after the Reaping.

* * *

Amell Maeda

District 5 Male

13 Years Old

Aurelia St. Clair, our escort, begins her customary speech, taking great care to sound interested and enthusiastic. Over the years, a few Escorts of other Districts have somewhat toned down their theatrics on Reaping Day, but Aurelia was definitely not one of them. She was old school, and always gave her 100% in acting all peppy and overexcited while the audience remained dead silent, year after year.

Our District didn't have a great Hunger Games history, especially recently. The last time a Tribute from Five went especially far was the 74th Games, when a redhaired girl (whose name I forget) placed 4th overall, and without killing anyone.

Aurelia does her weird "Ladies first!" thing and walks to the corresponding Reaping ball.

She picks out a slip and reads it.

"Cassie Gammon."

There's some shouting and commotion from the family section, and a girl walks out from the 15-year-olds section into the central aisle.

She was taller than average, and athletically built. Her blonde hair just about reached her shoulders.

Even if she was scared or nervous, you could hardly tell. Her facial expression and body language showed an unexpected calmness for someone who was just Reaped into the Hunger Games.

"Welcome my dear!" Aurelia gushes, "It is _so_ good to have you with us."

Cassie flashes her a polite smile but says nothing.

"Very well then! Now, for the boys…"

She walks to the other Reaping ball, wearing her ridiculously high stilettos. She picks out a slip.

"Amell Maeda."

I am unable to move, frozen with an intense fear that was no different from what I felt that night the man broke into our home and took my parents away from me.

The voices are going, but I can't make out anything.

The others around me have shifted themselves away, which, along with the turning heads, allows Aurelia to pinpoint my location.

Finally, the voices become a little clearer.

 _Amell, you need to go now. We'll think over it later. But you have to go._

I slowly make my way to the stage, wondering if people could see my knees trembling.

Aurelia gives me her usual effusive welcome, but it's all muffled. I was focused on the inside.

 _Don't worry, Amell. It's not that much different from the real world. At least you know for sure that everyone's trying to kill you. Heck, that probably makes things easier._

The ceremony ends and we're escorted into the Justice Building for our farewells. Before we're put into separate rooms, I sneak a glance at Cassie.

 _She's probably planning to gain your trust, become allies with you. She'll kill you as soon as it's convenient for her. You can't let that happen. Don't trust anyone, especially someone who wants you to trust them._

I wouldn't let her get the upper hand. I'll be keeping a close eye on her for sure, and as soon something seems off, I'll kill her. I'll kill anyone who poses a direct threat to me.

I'm never going to be helpless again.

* * *

Cassie Gammon

District 5 Female

15 Years Old

"I'm so sorry Cassie," my mother sobs, "I don't want yesterday to be one of your last memories of us. I love you for who you are."

"Don't worry about it mom," I tell her as we hug, "I know you just wanted the best for me. Thanks for that."

She tries to smile through her tears, "You're strong. Fast. Charismatic. You have so much going for you. Please come back to us…"

"I'll do everything I can, mom. Promise."

I share some farewells with Daniel, Fiona, and Greg as well before they're escorted out of the room.

This is just another challenge, albeit a big one. But panicking isn't going to help me overcome it.

And at the same time, I'm thankful for my strengths. After all, most of our schoolwork will be useless in the Arena, unless you're trying to design some complex trap or something. Projects like that were rare anyway. Most of the time you didn't have the materials, tools, or even time to do it. I remember one year when a particularly smart group, mostly from Three and Five, tried to detach an automatic turret and use it on the Careers. But before they were able to, the pair from Two found them and killed them all.

Anyway, I'm not planning on allying with anyone, but I want to see if I can set up a sort of neutrality agreement with some other Tributes. An actual alliance would be too dangerous, but if we could agree to try to not kill each other until most of the Careers were dead, it would help all of our chances.

I wonder about my District partner, the short, skinny, and messy-looking 13-year-old with the scar on his right arm. What will he try to do? At the very least, I don't think I have to worry about him. He seems harmless enough.

Plus, everyone knows that killing your District partner early on in the Games is very unpopular.

* * *

 **AN: I hope you enjoyed reading this chapter. Sorry for the repetitiveness in some of the Reaping scenes. It's hard for me to avoid, but I try to vary it somewhat from District to District.**

 **And thanks to everyone who submitted, as we now have 24/24 Tributes!**

 **Please leave a review letting me know what you thought of these two, as well as any other comments about the story. I'm not planning to do a sponsorship system, but reviewing will play a role (albeit minor) in how your Tribute fares once the Games begin.**


	7. Two Worlds (D7)

**AN: Sorry for not updating last weekend. Going forward, I'll try to post notices on my profile page if there are any expected delays/breaks. Unfortunately, a lot of SYOTs get abandoned, but this one won't. Anyway, hope you like this.**

* * *

Alexei Tepes

District 7 Male

18 Years Old

If you ever wondered what District Seven was like, I could simply show you the scene right in front of me.

The loud and sharp buzzing of saws, the smell of freshly cut pine, the trails of sawdust sprinkled on dirt roads, the beeping of reversing trucks, the tired conversation of workers finishing their shift – this is my every day, a familiar scene that makes the days blend together. This is where I'd be spending half the hours in a day, hacking down trees until my body is no longer able to.

An automated voice, the same one I hear each day, comes on the loudspeaker.

"The time is now 7 PM. The day's shift has officially ended. Please begin closing down all appropriate operations and depart the site in an orderly fashion. The Capitol appreciates the work you do to build a stronger Panem."

And with that, I bury my axe in a nearby stump and begin heading back towards the sawmill, along with dozens of others around me who do the same.

I enjoy walking home alone, as the relative quiet gives me a time to think. Not that there was all that much to think about when you're chopping trees for 12 hours a day.

I turn the corner to face a narrow street with a few homeless people huddled around a burning barrel. It's unusually chilly tonight after all.

I sigh in frustration before turning back to go around the next block.

Now of course, you might wonder why I did that.

Years ago, back when I was only five years old, our house burnt down.

But it was no accident – my father did it, after killing my mother. He had gone completely mad.

The signs were there for a while beforehand, but we never thought too much of it. No one suspected that he'd be capable of something like that.

My older brother Vladimir and I managed to get out, but I suffered serious burns to my back, leaving behind scars that will remain for the rest of my life.

After that, the two of us were taken in by Uncle Xavier (my mother's brother) and Aunt Dana. Once we turned 16, we helped them to pay the bills and buy food. Vlad became a carpenter and I went to work chopping trees. Just last year, we moved into an apartment right across the hall from our uncle and aunt.

And now, whenever I see a flame, I know I have to stay away. Regardless how harmless it appears to be, I simply couldn't be near it.

* * *

Cherrie "Cher" Axlyn

District 7 Female

16 Years Old

The sunlight pours through the thin, vertical windows, an alluring invitation to head outside and taste the fresh spring air.

But instead I'm stuck here, in an old dusty office next to a stack of paperwork that need to be completed in the next few hours. This is what working for my mother typically looked like.

Most people know her as Lana Axlyn, the popular Mayor of District 7.

You'd think that working for a District Mayor must be interesting, maybe even exciting. But most of my days are spent like this, trapped inside doing tedious clerical work. It really makes me miss the pastime of h\anging out in the woods with my brother Charlie, throwing knives at crude targets painted on trees and hunting for game to sell at my father's butcher shop. We're both highly competitive, so everything became a contest between us.

While we were running the butcher shop, my mother was on the administrative staff at the Mayor's office. She worked her way up the ladder and was eventually appointed District Mayor by the Capitol. Though being Mayor meant a higher quality of life and other privileges, she never forgot her working-class roots, as a butcher's wife and mother of three. I suspect this is a major reason for her popularity among the citizens of Seven.

I never actually intended to get into the inner workings of District politics. That was a career path more suited for my older sister Fara, who'd been working for my mother's office ever since she was appointed Mayor. Then on one day around seven months ago, Fara discovered that she'd gotten pregnant by a lumberjack she was having an under-the-radar relationship with. My parents were absolutely furious, thinking that it'd be rather scandalous for something like to happen to the Mayor's daughter. And seeing as how she was only a month away from being 18, they forced her out of the house.

And that's where I came in.

My mother needed someone to carry out Fara's duties at her office, and I was the natural choice, as Charlie had just gotten a job at a nearby sawmill.

It's mostly boring, repetitive work, but since I told my mother that I'd take up the position, I wasn't going to complain about it.

There is a bright side to it though, something that made the job truly interesting and the mounds of paperwork worthwhile.

Mayors have access to information from the Capitol that no other citizens of the District have – policy changes from the Capitol, goings-on in other Districts, and some Games-related news as well. It's all highly fascinating, for the few times that I've snuck into my mother's office and read some of the reports.

For example, just the other day I read that we were getting a new Escort this year. Her name was Kassandra Kenyon, apparently an actress from the Capitol, and this would be her very first year as an Escort. I'm not sure how she managed to get Seven as her first District, but it was incredibly rare. Most brand-new Escorts start off in the outer Districts and gradually move their way up.

At least that'll be something new for this year. Reapings tend to be pretty boring around here. Most people in Seven are in pretty good shape, given the physical labor emphasis here, and our Tributes tend to place well in the Games. There were almost never any volunteers, and almost all the Reaped children would maintain their composure when taking the stage. This stoicism has more-or-less become a tradition in Seven.

* * *

Alexei Tepes

District 7 Male

18 Years Old

We both stare up at the ceiling as we let our breathing rate return to normal.

"That was really… nice," I say to her.

"Nice, huh. You're a real poet, aren't you," she replies with a light laugh.

I've only been dating Rylee for about six months, but I can already feel the thrill of sex fading gradually. Just as it did with Brielle. And Eden. And Addison. And whoever was before that.

It's not that it was all about sex. I treat each girl well, and I strive for a connection, that special spark that tells you what you have is truly valuable. But no matter how much effort I put in, that connection just isn't made. And all that's left is the most tangible part of a relationship – the physical and intimate part.

"So… You worried about the Reaping?" I ask Rylee.

"Not really," she replies, "Name's only in there once for each year. Just have to survive this last one."

I'm not sure what to say then, and an awkward pause ensues.

"But let's talk about you," she says. "You know, I wanna figure out who you really are."

"What do you mean?" I reply, mildly confused as we abruptly head from light-pillow-talk-land straight into the deep-conversation realm.

"I mean, you always seem so… distant, like you don't want people to see too much of you. But I can tell there's something more. And I want to know what's behind that mask."

I force a chuckle. "There's no mask, Rylee. This is just who I am."

"Well, I just don't believe that," she says with a wry smile.

Another pause.

"But anyway, we should go shower now. Wouldn't wanna be late to our last Reaping."

With that, she climbs out from under the covers, grabs her clothes off the floor. I'm left lying there admiring her perfect ass as she walks towards the bathroom door.

She turns around. "Come on, let's go!" she says with a giggle.

"Alright, alright, I'm coming."

Who knows, maybe there's something more to this one.

* * *

Cherrie "Cher" Axlyn

District 7 Female

16 Years Old

"Cher! I need to go now, but make sure you and Charlie aren't late!"

"Got it, mom!" I shout down the stairs toward the front door.

Good ol' Reaping Day – the only day in the year that we get off.

I never worried about this day. My name, of course, was still somewhere in that bowl, but I had never taken any tesserae, and neither had Charlie. What I do know (from peeking at data tables over the years) is that Seven was slightly below average in terms of wealth, and we averaged around 3 tesserae per person. So, our chances seemed pretty good.

"Hurry up, Charlie! We don't wanna be late!" I yell in the direction of his closed bedroom door.

"We won't be, as long as you don't walk so damn slow," he retorts.

 _What an ass_ , I think to myself as I finish fixing my hair.

I suddenly remember that this will be Fara's last Reaping – she'll be 19 in another six months.

* * *

We arrive at the District square and head to our separate lines to go through the ID check. Several of the Peacekeepers on patrol greet me as I walk past them.

Once I find my way to the 16-year-olds section, I look towards the 18-year-olds section and try to find Fara. I locate her pretty quickly, seeing as how she's the only 7-months-pregnant one there.

The video plays, and I silently mouth the narration that I've come to memorize. Afterwards, Kassandra takes to the stage, wearing an elaborate, violet dress, with her hair dyed to match the color.

"Hello District Seven! My name is Kassandra Kenyon, and I'm your new District Escort. I am so proud to standing here before all of you, and I hope we'll have many good years ahead of us!"

After a brief, silence-filled pause, she continues.

"Well then, let's get right to it."

She walks over to the boys' Reaping ball.

 _Weird. Almost everyone starts with the girls first. Oh well, it's her first time after all._

She picks out a name and clears her throat before enunciating the name written on the paper.

"Alexei Tepes."

With little delay, a dark-haired 18-year-old steps out into the aisle. He looks around 6-feet tall, lean, but still muscular. His skin was significantly tanned.

 _Definitely a lumberjack._

Wearing a blank expression, he makes his way swiftly to the stage. Kassandra greets him, says a few generic words, and moves on.

* * *

Alexei Tepes

District 7 Male

18 Years Old

Things are about to get a whole lot more interesting now.

I'm going to have to fight. To kill kids that would rather be anywhere else (except for the Careers, of course). And it's all just entertainment for the Capitol.

Suddenly the monotony of my work and the frustration with my relationships became total nonissues. These things only matter if you're alive.

I need some time later to think things through. I'm in a good position relative to most other Tributes, I imagine. I just need a solid strategy.

Kassandra moves over to the girls' ball and picks out a slip.

"Fara Axlyn."

 _No way. Is that one of the Mayor's daughters?_

All of a sudden, Mayor Axlyn herself gets up from her seat on the stage.

"No, no, no," she says agitatedly. "There must be a mistake. Look! She's seven months pregnant. You can't do that to her!"

Kassandra is clearly taken aback by this unexpected turn of events.

"I'm sorry, miss," she replies calmly, "But I'm afraid that doesn't mean she can't be Reaped."

"This is ridiculous! You're not just sending her in, you're sending her _child_ in to die too!"

Normally, the Peacekeepers would have stepped in by now to ensure that the Reaping continues in an orderly fashion. But here, they're all just standing by, unsure of what to do.

As the argument on stage goes on, Fara begins to make her way to the aisle.

And then, a loud shout of "I volunteer!" silences the chaos on stage. Everyone turns to face the source of the outburst.

It was the Mayor Axlyn's other daughter, Cher.

It takes a while before the highly distraught mayor is gently escorted off stage by one of the Peacekeepers. Cher reaches the stage and stands on the opposite side of Kassandra. Only now am I able to get a closer look at my District partner.

I had seen her around a few times before, at school and a few public events. She's relatively short (maybe around 5'3'') and thin, with dark hair that reached just short of her elbows. She has sharp facial features, and her skin is somewhat tanned (though not as much as mine).

"So, my dear, tell us your name. I assume that was your sister whom you just volunteered for," Kassandra says as she holds to mic to Cher for a response.

"I'm Cher Axlyn. And yes, that's my sister Fara. You're obviously not supposed to send someone who's pregnant to the Games."

"Alright then," Kassandra replies hesitantly, "Well, let's welcome our noble volunteer!"

In a rare departure from Seven's silent and unemotional Reaping tradition, the crowd gave a heartfelt round of applause to the daughter of our well-liked Mayor.

* * *

Cherrie "Cher" Axlyn

District 7 Female

16 Years Old

We were in the visitation room of the Justice Building, a room I'd seen several times over the years, though I never imagined myself sitting in it like this. Fara had just left, effusively thanking me for what I did. But she didn't want to be here when our mother came in.

I can't remember the last time I saw my mother like this, broken down and in tears.

"Mom, you know this was the right thing to do," I calmly tell her.

She nods and tries to collect herself.

"Please don't do anything to anger the Capitol. The people here admire you – you're an inspiration to them. Just keep doing your job. Promise me, mom."

"I promise, sweetie. Don't worry about us. I just want you to come home. You have a clever mind, and you're capable of so much… Promise _me_ , Cher, that you'll do whatever it takes to come back to us."

"Count on it," I reply, "I'll start planning everything as soon as I get on that train."

A Peacekeeper walks into the room and quietly says, "I'm sorry to interrupt, ma'am, but I'm afraid your time's up here."

My mother stands up, takes a deep breath, and grabs my hands.

"I love you, sweetie. Always. We'll be rooting for you every step of the way."

She moves forward to hug me before leaving the room with the Peacekeeper. My father and Charlie enter shortly afterwards, and we share a few words before saying our goodbyes. Seeing my hyperactive and facetious brother so miserable hit me especially hard.

They leave, and for a few brief moments, I'm allowed to think.

I'm a volunteer. I committed myself to this, and now I must see it through to the best of my ability. Being a non-Career volunteer _and_ a District Mayor's daughter will definitely put me on the radar, and perhaps even make me a target. But the story isn't written yet. I'm not going to let the Capitol, or the other Careers, have their way with me.

Alexei seems like he can be very useful. He's definitely strong and appears especially level-headed. I wonder if there was anything in the world he'd be truly afraid of.

* * *

 **AN: Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think of this chapter!**

 **I realize this chapter might be a bit backstory/history-heavy, but I hope I was able to showcase a bit of each character's personality. Obviously, there will be many more opportunities for doing so once the Reapings are done and all the Tributes get together.**

 **Also, let me know if you have any questions about the story, but keep in mind that many details that are unclear now will be revealed as the story progresses.**

 **Thank you to everyone who's been following this story. I really do appreciate it, and I read all your reviews very carefully.**


	8. Painful Reunion (D8)

**AN: Here's a little something different for this week. And as a side note, not all the intro chapters will follow the same format – it'll always be based on the way the characters are created. (And sorry if I'm bad at writing romance, which I think I am.)**

* * *

Ebony Lanvin

District 8 Female

16 Years Old

"What were you thinking? Have you completely lost your mind?" I say to him, trying my best to inject some anger into my words, because it sure didn't come naturally to me.

"I-, I- wanted to-" he stammers, "I wanted to help you. I couldn't let you go in there alone."

"What am I, some damsel in distress? Klein, what do you think this is? Some sort of movie where you get to play the hero who rescues his girl from certain death and redeems himself? Wake. Up. This is real life. At best, _one_ of us gets to leave that place alive."

"Well, if it comes down to that, it'll have to be you."

"So you're going to put your death on my shoulders. Let me tell you something: I am not worth anyone dying for me."

"But you are, Eb – you're worth it all. This past year… I've been a mess… I quit the band. I stopped going out. I've been avoiding you in the halls because of what happens to me when I see you. You break me, Eb, every single day."

 _No. This isn't fair. He doesn't get to do this to me._

There's a silence as I try my best to maintain my composure.

"You know what you did," I said sheepishly, "And you know why things turned out the way they did."

"And I would do anything. _Anything_. To fix it. But I can't go back in time. Or I would. And when I heard your name get called, I knew there was only one way to make things right…"

Silence.

"I'm sorry," he continues, "I'm sorry for everything. I never wanted you to be upset. But I couldn't stand the idea of you leaving without knowing how much I still love you."

As my eyes began to well up with tears, I turn away from him and stare out the window at the blur of green zooming past us.

"There's no getting over you, Eb. Not for me. Not ever."

As the first tears trickle down the sides of my face, I begin to realize that through all the constant avoiding of each other and the short, distracting "relationships" I put myself through after our breakup, I am no longer able to hide from the truth, a truth that is far more painful than any of the lies I've been telling myself in the past year.

I still love him.

* * *

Klein Yamamoto

District 8 Male

16 Years Old

And this is my life today: riding with ex-girlfriend on a fancy train to the Capitol, where we'll be paraded around, betted on, ranked among each other, and so much more, all for their entertainment.

Imagine my life just over a year ago. I was doing well in school, had a small but close-knit and loyal friend group, and played principal clarinet in the band. I came home to two near-perfect parents, with two successful older sisters that would visit frequently.

Then there was Ebony Lavin. The girl who played the flute. The singer. The dancer. The kind and gentle soul who had it all but never acted like she was above anyone else. She was undeniably beautiful too, with her dark brown hair and eyes and flawless pale skin. All the guys wanted to date her. All the girls wanted to be her.

And she had chosen me, out of all people. The one year we were together was a time of pure bliss, with so many incredible moments that would be engraved into my memory, never to be forgotten.

The trouble began when I thought about taking our relationship to the next step. I figured that we'd been together for an entire year by then, having spent so much of our time together.

But unfortunately, she didn't appreciate it. At all. I guess she just wasn't ready to head in that direction just yet and grew tired of my actions. (And to be completely fair, some of those probably happened while I was drunk.)

I must have underestimated just how easy it was to lose someone like that. How quickly ecstasy could turn to sorrow. While the simple act of looking at her used to light a spark inside me, it now brought me anguish. Seeing her reminded me of how slowly we'd walk down the street just so we could talk longer. It reminded me of how we'd go stargazing on the roof of Factory 39. It reminded me of every delightful experience together, when the rest of the world disappeared and all we'd wish for was for those fleeting moments to endure forever.

Not only did I avoid her, but I also avoided doing my schoolwork, avoided commitments with friends, avoided speaking to my parents, avoided looking into the mirror. I quit band and spent a lot more time on my own, wishing every night before falling asleep that I'd somehow be granted one more chance, an opportunity to make things right again.

* * *

Ebony Lanvin

District 8 Female

16 Years Old

After saying those last words, Klein quietly departs the dining car, leaving me alone in my tears and thoughts.

Before long, I hear the door slide open, and our Escort Eugenia Somerset enters the room.

"Ah, there you are, Ebony darling. I've been meaning to speak to you," she says in her cheery, every-Escort-ever voice.

But her tone shifts dramatically once she catches sight of my tear-stained face.

"Oh, what's wrong? Do tell me, darling, because I can't stand to see you look like this!"

A brief silence follows, as I'm debating whether or not to speak with her.

"Is it Klein? It isn't hard to guess that you have some history between the two of you…"

"Yes," I reply in a near-whisper.

"Ah! I know what it is," she says in a louder voice as she takes a seat across from me at the lily-white dining booth.

"You two are lovers, aren't you?"

"Were," I correct her.

"Hmm. Are you sure about that, darling?"

Silence.

Eugenia continues, "Well, I say, it doesn't matter now! What does matter is that you do everything you can to get out of these Games alive. And that boy is your greatest asset, the best ally you could have. I can tell how much he cares just based on the way he looks at you."

More silence.

"It is my belief, darling, that the two of you should set aside whatever negative history is bothering you right now, and work together on the task at hand. And I'll be there to help you in whatever way I can."

"Thanks Eugenia," I reply quietly after some time, "I suppose you're right."

* * *

Klein Yamamoto

District 8 Male

16 Years Old

I'm sitting in a comfortable fold-down seat by the window, watching the lush forests gradually give way to grassy plains, when Ebony enters the carriage.

"Hey," she greets in a tender voice.

"Hey."

"I just wanted to say—"

"Look, Eb, you don't owe me any apologies. You were right about what you said."

"Listen to me, Klein. Maybe I was too harsh on you for what you did. I really just wasn't comfortable with moving to the next level… And I was just getting tired—"

"It's fine, Eb. I understand completely."

"I'm sorry, Klein," she blurts out, "I'm sorry for what I put you through."

This time I'm the silent one as I shift my gaze from the window down to my feet, reflecting on what she just said.

"We need each other now," she continues, "Probably more so than ever. We're going to be facing 22 other people – some are strong, some are fast, some are knowledgeable. Heck, some are trained killers. We need to be able to trust each other."

"Yeah, you're right," I say, "But nobody else. It'll only complicate things. Once we get in there, it's us versus them."

"That's fine," she replies, "It's too risky."

"Tell you what, let's run through our general strategy with the others later tonight. Sound good?"

"Yeah," she answers, "Definitely."

As Ebony turns around to leave, I realize that she never told me how she feels about me.

* * *

 **AN: I know some of you might not like these "love stories" in SYOTs, but I think they're a typical and expected part of the lives of teenagers. I hope to write about a broad range of experiences that Tributes might go through during the course of the story.**

 **Thank you so much to everyone who's been following this story. As always, please try to leave a review with your thoughts on the chapter.**

 **Oh, and we're now halfway through the Tribute introductions!**


	9. Pageant of Honor (D2)

**AN: Time for some more Careers! Thank you for these two. This chapter was a lot of fun for me to write.**

* * *

Sycorax "Cora" Adherra

District 2 Female

18 Years Old

 _~~8 Years Ago~~_

"What kind of name is 'Sycorax' anyway?" says one.

"A poor people's name," says another, followed by a burst of laughter.

"Go away," I reply in a stern and low voice, but loud enough for them to hear.

"Aww, she wants us to go away!"

"What if we don't want to?"

One of them steps forward and shoves me. I stumble back a little and almost lose my balance.

"Last chance," I tell them calmly, but this time in a slightly louder voice.

"Or what, _Sy-Cor-Ax_?"

The same one steps forward to shove me again, but I take a quick step to the side. I place a hand on his back while sticking out a foot, using his momentum to bring him forward over it and sending him falling to the ground.

Before anyone else can react, I send my fist straight into the second one's face, and he falls backward onto the ground.

The third one tries to run, but I catch up to her easily and grab a handful of her hair, yanking her head back. She's screaming, but I turn her around to face me and throw a solid punch to her stomach region. She falls to the ground and begins to cry.

With all three of them on the ground, two teachers finally come over to help. One of them scolds me before taking my hand and bringing me back into the building.

* * *

Dominic "Dom" Axton

District 2 Male

18 Years Old

My hands are getting sweaty, and my arms begin to ache ever so slightly.

 _Dammit. I should've used more chalk._

I turn my head to glance at the progress of my competitors. Well, technically this isn't a competition, since we're all just using the climbing wall to work on our own strength, endurance, and agility, etc. But really, in this world, everything's a competition.

One of the climbers on the far-right end of the wall is roughly where I am, and someone else to my left was quickly catching up. I then refocus my attention on the climb as I look for the next rock to grasp.

As we're nearing the top of the wall, I realize that the boy at the far-right end is just slightly ahead of me. Thinking quickly, I see a path just off the left that would allow me to skip a few rocks and make up the difference. Problem is, it was somewhat of a jump away, and I can't guarantee that I'd make it given my current state.

And then, as if my drive to finish first made the decision for me, I find myself attempting the jump, barely reaching the rock with my left hand. I use my grip on it to swing the rest of my body over, and I swiftly scale the last few rocks to make it to the top.

I look over and see the boy climbing over the top ledge just now, and I smile to myself.

* * *

Sycorax "Cora" Adherra

District 2 Female

18 Years Old

 _~~5 Years Ago~~_

"You sure you wanna do this?" Adelaide asks.

"Are you sure _you_ want to?" I shoot back.

"This is the Center. _Some_ of us have been here since we were 6."

"Oh no, so I joined a few years late. I'll never catch up now."

"I doubt you will. You're soft."

"It won't be soft when I kick your ass in about ten minutes."

Adelaide lets out an exaggerated laugh.

"Good one, Cora. Good one," she says as she walks out of the locker room.

Adelaide is a few months older than me, but we we're both 13, so we still get paired up for fights. She's also surprisingly strong for a 14-year-old and is easily the best in her age group at hand-to-hand combat. Ever since I joined the Center just over two years ago, she's had it out for me. She clearly doesn't think I belong here and makes every effort to prove herself better than me. What an insecure little bitch.

Yeah, I'm not the most pure and innocent 13-year-old around. So what? You don't get to be a nice girl at the Center. See, this place is nothing like school. They don't break up fights here – they encourage them. If you can't handle the training, you drop out and get tossed to the streets, where crime and prostitution are the most reliable sources of income. Or if they feel like you're not worth training any more, they'll expel you. Let's say you make it till you're 18, at which point you can sign up for the Trials. If you're not the best, you usually join the Peacekeepers and go push around poor people in the outer Districts. And if you _are_ the best, you go to the Games, where you'll die and be forgotten, or win and come home to Two as a Victor, which means a few years of periodic attention from the Capitol media, good food, and even better fucking, until you become forgotten and overdose on Morphling or have your liver give out from the years of rampant alcoholism.

Again, not the nicest 13-year-old you'll meet.

I leave the locker room and head to the main gymnasium, where several fighting rings have been set up. I make my way down to ring no. 7 and join Adelaide and Trainer Schist.

We assume our starting positions at opposite corners of the ring, which was surrounded on all four sides by dark blue ring ropes. The floor was a gray, padded surface to reduce the chance of serious injury.

Trainer Schist blows the whistle and the fight begins.

Adelaide and I slowly approach each other until we're within striking range. She decides to go for the first hit (predictably), and I dodge it by shifting to my left. I know she's frustrated at the miss and will go in for another, so I prepare myself to counter. Surely enough, the next punch comes and I parry it with my right arm while going in for a counter-jab with my left fist. But as if she read my mind, Adelaide blocks my counter and follows up with a kick to the chest, sending me backwards.

This matchup continues for some time, a continuous game of reading the opponent while figuring out the best way to respond. We both take a few hits, and the fight is relatively even.

At one point I manage to land a blow squarely in her face and her lip begins to bleed. The sight of the blood causes me to smile, and I begin to attack more aggressively. Shortly after, I have her backed up into one of the corners of the ring, and I see an opportunity to land a heavy hit. I go for it, but she sees it coming again and manages to grab my arm. She twists it, which forces me to turn my body away. It's almost as if her retreat into the corner was calculated.

"You're gonna have to do better than that," Adelaide says ever-so-calmly.

And then, with a powerful downward blow, she breaks my arm.

* * *

Dominic "Dom" Axton

District 2 Male

18 Years Old

"You think you'll get it?" Stasia asks me.

She's sitting on my bed and I'm in my standard-issue desk chair, bouncing an old tennis ball off the wall. We've been together for almost a year now, and I know she'll be the one I miss the most if I'm selected.

It's around 11pm. The selection announcement typically takes place right before midnight. Pretty late, if you ask me, but it's done to help make sure nobody does anything to the chosen Volunteer ahead of the Reaping.

"Yeah, I think so," I reply coolly. "Everything went pretty well. No surprises really."

"You know, I never asked you this before, but why?"

"Why what?"

"Why do you wanna go into the Games? I mean, they're so unpredictable. Even top Careers have died in the Bloodbath…"

"To bring honor to Two. That's what we're meant to do. The Games were always supposed to be about honor. Courage."

"Oh come on, you sound like that video they play at the beginning of the ceremony!"

"But it's true though! My uncle Silvanus fought with honor and won the 66th Games. By winning this year, I'm gonna help make sure it stays that way. Plus, what's the other option? Join the Peacekeepers and bully some poor farmers in Eleven? The Games are our best shot at making something out of ourselves."

"It's still just a shot though. Aren't you at least _slightly_ worried that things could go wrong? I could lose you, Dom…"

"Don't worry about me, babe. I'm probably the most well-rounded Career we've had in years. You know me, I always have to be at the top. Or least I'll try…"

"Huh. Tell me about it. You know, I saw you rock climbing yesterday, like it was a race for your life. You could've hurt yourself with that jump at the end."

"Oh, please. It was all under control!"

"If you say so."

"I _am_ saying so."

There's a knock at the door.

"Who is it?" I shout.

"Trainer Schist."

"Oh, please come on in."

He opens the door and takes a step or two into my room.

"Congratulations, Dominic. You're going in."

This is hardly a surprise for me, so all I do is smile. Stasia hops off the bed and hugs me. "I knew you could do it," she whispers into my ear.

"Well, I'll leave you two to celebrate. Don't be late to the ceremony." says Schist.

"And just like that, you'll be gone tomorrow," Stasia says quietly.

"We'll still be able to see each in the Justice Building afterwards," I reply.

"That's not the point…"

"Hey, I hear what you're saying. I really do. But I'll be careful. You know I will."

"Alright… Just promise me you won't bang some outer-District slut."

"I promise," I say with a chuckle.

"And since this is our last night together, at least for a while…"

She takes my hand and pulls me out of the chair.

"I think you need a little something to remember me by," she says, pushing me onto the bed.

I'm going to miss her _a lot_.

* * *

Sycorax "Cora" Adherra

District 2 Female

18 Years Old

You ever wonder how people will remember you once you're gone?

Well, that's assuming people _will_ remember you. Very few people will remember me. Mother spends most of her time as a Peacekeeper in Eight, and Father's works a 12-hour-shift at the masonry. He never says much when he's home anyway. My parents aren't bad people – they're just never around.

I don't really talk to anyone at the Center. Most people are either scared of me or hate me. Or both.

I wonder if people will find the small animals I've killed in the woods surrounding the Center…

The water stops, indicating the end of our allotted 5-minute shower.

I put on my standard-issue gray bath robe before stepping out of the shower stall.

As I turn the corner, I find myself face-to-face with Adelaide. _The fuck does she want?_

"Hey Cora."

"What do you want?"

"I think you know the answer to that. All I want is what I've been working for since I was six."

"You might just get it. Did they announce the results yet?"

"No, but it's no secret that you'll get it. You're Schist's pet project, after all."

"Alright, so what are you gonna do?"

"Well, as you know, if the selected Volunteer is no longer fit to compete, say, because of injuries, then the first backup becomes the Volunteer. And who do you think will finish second on that list?"

She swings her arm at my head in an attempt to catch me off guard, which is so predictable. I grab it and twist it so it forces her to turn her body around.

And for just a split-second, as I catch a glimpse of her face, she gives me _that_ look. The look of knowing exactly what's about the happen but being unable to stop it.

"You're gonna have to do better than that," I say to her, barely able to contain my excitement.

 _Snap_.

* * *

I'm back in my room, lying on bed and staring at the ceiling when I hear a knock at the door.

"It's Trainer Schist."

I get up to open the door.

"Congrats, Cora. You did it."

"Thanks," I say flatly.

"You know I still remember that day," Schist begins, "When I first saw you on the playground at your school. I remember the way you handled yourself against those bullies… You've come so far from the scrappy little girl I saw that day. You're a warrior now. You're meant for this."

I nod and force a smile. "So I'll see you at the ceremony then," I say.

"Yes, absolutely. Sleep well."

As he turns around and begins to head down the hallway, I call out to him.

"Oh, and one more thing."

"Yes, Cora?"

"They weren't bullies."

* * *

 **AN: So this chapter is, in my opinion, the best one I've written so far. What do you all think? How do you like these two? Please review! And thank you all for reading.**


	10. Of Books and Artifacts (D12)

**AN: Thanks for these two! Writing this chapter came naturally to me.**

* * *

Emberly Layden

District 12 Female

13 Years Old

 _Did I sound weird? I probably did. It was just a simple "hi." Why am I always so awkward?_

Thoughts like these run through my head as I struggle to finish reading the dusty little book in front of me, with its pages yellowed over the years.

But it's fine. I'll be ready the next time he says "hi" to me. It'll be natural.

My thoughts are interrupted by the playful screaming and laughter of a few younger children just outside. They seemed to be playing tag or something, and they looked so happy. Sometimes, I wonder what it's like to have so many friends to laugh and talk with. Most of my time now is spent with my family or here at the library.

Anyway, the book I'm reading is a love story about a poor girl from Ten who falls in love with a dashing Victor from Two during his Victor Tour. But she's not allowed to move to Two and live with him, and he's not allowed to settle in Ten.

And so, the two don't see each other for a while after the Tour. Due to his looks and popularity, the Victor ends up spending most of his time in the Capitol, a fact that becomes well known to most people in Panem. One day, while at an upscale hotel in the Capitol, he recognizes one of the Avoxes. It was the poor girl from Ten – she had gotten herself Avoxed for a chance to go to the Capitol and find him.

The part I'm on now has their relationship picked up by the Capitol, who celebrate their love and allow them to live together.

Maybe the Capitol isn't _all_ bad after all. It'd be absolutely amazing to visit and see what it's really like, beyond what's shown in standard Hunger Games programming. Just imagine the things they could do with all their technology.

Of course, for any of us out here, there was only one way to get to the Capitol.

* * *

Cardiff Hriver

District 12 Male

15 Years Old

I lean towards the metal wiring of the fence, listening for the low hum that meant it was powered.

"It's not on. We're good," I motion to the others.

It was the five of us. The squad. Juniper, Harlan, Lucian, Katy, and myself. We'd spend most of our afternoons like this – sneaking out beyond the fence and exploring some of the ruins we come across. The fence is consistently without power around this time, and there were rarely any Peacekeepers in sight around these parts (you might call it the "rich" part of Twelve), not that most of them cared anyway.

"Alright, let's do this," Lucian says.

I watch as the four of them duck through the metal wiring, one after another. I usually go last because it takes a little more time, given my stature.

"So, what's the plan for today?" Katy asks once we're all on the other side.

"We should finish exploring that office building from last time," I answer, "Could be some good finds in there."

"Yeah, gotta keep the exhibits at the Hriver Museum of History nice and refreshed," Harlan jokes.

"That's how I like it," I reply with a smile.

"Let's get a move on then. We're wasting daylight," says Lucian.

And so, we begin our trek through the woods, with myself at the front of the pack. I estimate that it's about a mile-and-a-half to the office building ruins. We barely got to go inside last time, since it was getting dark and Juniper finds the sites too creepy at night.

"So, how'd exams go for everyone?" I ask, breaking the silence.

"Just great. I might actually pass this one," answers Harlan.

"Wasn't my best one, to be honest," says Katy.

"Well, I bet Juniper killed it. As usual…" Lucian adds.

Juniper looks unsure how to respond, so I do it for her.

"She should be. She's studying to become a healer after all."

"I just do what I can," Juniper says modestly.

"Normally, with grades like mine I'd be sent headfirst into the mines…" Harlan begins.

"…If your father weren't the deputy mayor. We know," says Katy with feigned impatience.

"Hey, looks like we're here!" I call back to them.

Ahead of us is a flat clearing, probably the parking lot back in the day. The deep gray office building stands at the end of the clearing and is about five stories tall, with all of its windows cracked or shattered over the years. The surrounding vegetation has really taken over the place, adding to its already eerie look.

"Let's go in a different way this time," Lucian suggests, "There's a bunch of vines over there. We could climb it up to the second floor."

"Seems a bit risky…" says Katy.

"That's what makes it more fun. C'mon!" Lucian replies as he begins running over.

"I guess we're doing this then," says Juniper.

"Almost nothing can stop Lucian once he's got his mind set on something," Harlan remarks.

And so, we all climb the mess of vines, again with myself going last.

I worry about whether or not the thing will hold my weight, but it turns out to be fine.

We're in a big room, dimly lit and incredibly dusty, with many shorter walls separating the countless cubicles throughout the room.

"Imagine being stuck in one of these for most of your working life," Lucian says.

"Might as well just throw me into the mines," replies Harlan.

"At least working in a cubicle won't make you die early," Juniper counters.

"It'll probably make you _want to_ die early though," Harlan says back.

There's a part of room where the floor has collapsed, leaving a gap through which you could see the first floor. Without warning, Lucian begins to spring towards the gap.

"Lucian, what are you—" Katy cries out, just as he leaps across the collapsed part, barely landing on the other side.

"Are you crazy?! You could've been seriously hurt if you landed a few inches short," Katy scolds.

"But I didn't," retorts Lucian. He's now searching through some of the desks on that side of the room.

"Hey Cardiff," he shouts, "Look what I found!"

Lucian throws some small metallic back across the gap towards me.

Catching it in my hand, I see it's a small, gold pocket watch.

 _This would be a nice addition_ , I think to myself.

"Nice find. Looks like gold," I say while inspecting the watch, "You know, there used to be this place not too far from where Twelve is now. They called it Fort Knox. The American government would store their gold reserves there – thousands and thousands of tons."

I look up to see that only Juniper is still listening. The others are exploring the various cubicles in the room. I smile at her.

* * *

Emberly Layden

District 12 Female

13 Years Old

The library's not open today, so I have to head home.

The walk back isn't too bad – only about 20 minutes.

I usually walk through a small part of the "rich" neighborhood of Twelve. The scent of homecooked food is common here, which makes my stomach growl. Sometimes I daydream about the kinds of dishes that produce these scents, foods that I would probably never get to eat during my lifetime.

Most of my family's diet was tessera bread, with occasional fruits or vegetables from the market as a special treat. Once, a few years ago, we even bought some ham from the market (with that being the last time I ate any meat).

As I'm busy thinking about food, I see a group of kids in the distance, near the perimeter fence. One by one, they cross to the other side and walk off into the woods.

I guess what they say about the fence never being powered during the day is true. I wonder what the world is like outside of Twelve. Not that I'd ever dare to venture outside anyway.

Before I even step foot inside our house, I can hear the shouting.

 _Oh no. Father's home again._

I open the door as quietly as I can, hoping that no one would notice. My sister Edana and father are by the stairs, arguing.

"Mom and Aris work their asses off every day for what? So you can get up at three in the afternoon and drink until sunrise?" says Edana.

"And what are you gonna do about it?" Father shoots back, already visibly drunk.

"You don't think this is disgusting behavior? You think this is okay?"

"No one gives a fuck what I think! If they did, we wouldn't be in this situation right now."

"This situation? The situation of you being an unemployed drunk living off your wife and son's income?"

At this, my father hurls a vase toward Edana. She barely manages to dodge it, and it shatters against the wall.

My heart is pounding and my breathing speeds up. I can't go upstairs without passing by them, so I hide under our small dining table, closing my eyes and covering my ears, even though I can still hear them.

"I never wanted this, alright?!" my father shouts, "I didn't ask for any of this!"

With that, he storms right past me and out the door, slamming it with such force that one of the picture frames falls off the wall onto the ground. It was one of my pastel drawings from a few years ago.

I open my eyes to find Edana knelt beside me.

"Hey Ems. Sorry you had to hear all that."

I look up at her as tears begin to cloud my vision.

"Tell you what, let's go take a walk with Flint and Rocky. How's that sound?"

I nod silently. Flint's my older brother (he's 16) and Rocky's our pet dog – a big, incredibly furry dog, but one that would protect you for sure.

We're all quiet for a while, until Edana breaks the ice.

"Mom and Aris will be home early today because of the Reaping tomorrow."

"I'm scared, Edana. My name's in there a bunch of times now…"

"Mine's in there a lot more times," Flint replies, "And same with countless other kids in Twelve. We all have to take out tesserae."

"He's right," says Edana, "There are 18-year-olds who've been taking out tesserae since they were 12. Their chances are definitely worse than yours."

"But I could still get chosen! I wouldn't last a minute in there…" I say, fighting back more tears.

Edana leans downs and hugs me. "Don't worry about that, Ems. It's only your second Reaping. And I made it through all of them alive, didn't I? You will too."

* * *

Cardiff Hriver

District 12 Male

15 Years Old

"Anyway, at the beginning of the Civil War, Virginia wanted to leave the Union and join the Confederacy, which was the South. But the people from the northwestern part of Virginia wanted to stay in the Union, so eventually they decided to break off from Virginia and become their own state, called West Virginia. And I believe, based on the artifacts I've collected over the years, that Twelve is located somewhere in what used to be West Virginia."

My little history lesson is met with a nods and grunts of acknowledgement.

"Alright, well I'll see you guys tomorrow," Katy says as she begins to walk off in another direction.

We were back in Twelve after our trip to the office ruins, completely exhausted. Of course, not exhausted enough to stop me from talking about history.

"See ya, Katy. Don't get Reaped!" Harden calls out to her.

"You too!"

With that, Harden and Lucian (who live near each other) walk off in the opposite direction.

Juniper turns toward me, "Well, guess I'll see you tomorrow Cardiff."

"For sure. And, uh, good luck."

"You too."

I walk a short distance back to my house. By District Twelve standards, it's definitely on the large side, but it still feels crowded for us. That's probably because my parents are both over seven feet tall, with my siblings and I all being at least six-foot-three.

I head up to my room, aptly described by Harlan as the "Hriver Museum of History."

On the walls are a few flags I've found, all with their colors seriously faded and fabric torn. There was a West Virginia state flag, a 50-star American flag, and a 48-star American flag.

There's a small bookcase with about three dozen books I've managed to get ahold of over the years. As long as they were pre-Panem, and the pages were readable, I'd add them to the collection.

Finally, my desk is covered in little trinkets: a few silver lockets, an action figure, a small globe without a stand, just to name a few.

I place the pocket watch next the silver lockets before hopping onto my bed.

There's still so much more to that office building. I wonder if I can convince the group to go there one more time, maybe tomorrow after the Reaping…

* * *

 **AN: Thanks for reading! What are your thoughts on these two? Please leave a review!**

 **Also note that I often won't be able to include everything in your Tribute form in the intro chapters. But don't worry! A lot of the other stuff will be mentioned in later chapters.**

 **Thank you so much to everyone who's been reading along. It's for you that I take the time to write every week. You guys are the best!**


	11. The Princess and the Pauper (D3)

**AN: Sorry for the somewhat delayed update. Hope you like this!**

* * *

Veranda Quinton

District 3 Female

18 Years Old

"They came out with the new monthly production quotas today," says my mother, who also happens to be Chief Engineer of Factory 11.

"Ah, it's that time of the year again, isn't it," my father replies. He happens to be the wealthiest man in Three. "When's Reaping Day again?"

"Next week, dear."

"Well, look at that. Time flies."

"That's easy for us to say," my younger brother Zander cuts in.

My parents say nothing in response, so Zander continues.

"We have our names added just once per year, while you have plenty of kids with their names in the bowl dozens of times just so they can get some oil and shitty grain for their family."

"Language, son," says my father with a tone of indifference.

"And what are you planning to do about that, Zander?" I ask.

"Well, there's not much I _can_ do, but I was just say—"

"Great! So shut up then. Our family isn't rich because we got lucky. It's because mom and dad worked hard and made an impact. They were ambitious, and it paid off."

"A lot of those people work hard too, Veranda!" He argues back. "Do you not understand that?"

"Maybe a small few of them do," I concede, "But most of them are probably drug addicts or alcoholics, or people that failed out of school. They deserve to be where they are."

"You know, you've always been like this – looking down on people from your own District. It's sad."

I chuckle a bit. "What's really sad is the lack of ambition people here have. So many of them are perfectly content with quietly assembling circuit boards together for the rest of their lives, doing exactly what they're told, as long as they can go home to an equally mediocre spouse and raise children that will just end up doing the same thing they did. Oh, I'm sorry, did I just describe your life goals?"

Zander is visibly upset now. "You're a bitch," he says, trying his best to restrain himself.

"Alright, that's enough from both of you," my mother scolds.

"Don't worry, I was just about to leave anyway," I reply as I get up from the table and prepare to head out the door.

Zander's a nice person, sure. And intelligent too, seeing as how, at 15 years old, he's already landed a job at Factory 9. But all he ever wanted to have was a stable job and a normal family. He had an intense aversion for many of the rich-people things we do and had no interest in continuing my father's legacy.

But I'm not like him at all. Not one bit. You see, intelligence isn't worth much if you don't know how to utilize it properly. On one hand, you could apply it to science, building things that mostly get shipped off for use in the Capitol. On the other hand, you could use it to influence, to sway people into doing what you need them to do. This is by far the more potent use of one's intellect.

My brother and I are both highly intelligent, but of the two of us, I'm the only one who understands this principle.

Add this to the fact that I'm incredibly rich, popular, and attractive, and you'll understand just how much I have to work with. But in the end, nothing I do here will mean anything because it is still just District Three. Even if I were to be remembered, it would only be in the minds of people from Three, and what good is that. I need to break the confines of this District, to make myself known to the entire nation of Panem.

And I have a plan to do exactly that.

* * *

Daley Keen

District 3 Male

15 Years Old

 _~~1 Year Ago~~_

I wake up to see bright sunlight seeping through unfamiliar blinds. I turn to my left and see an unfamiliar girl in the bed beside me.

 _Shit._

I sneak out from under the covers and hastily put my clothes on, being careful not to wake her up. I then quietly slip out the door, trying hard to piece together what happened last night.

I remember heading out to a bar late last night, after Chelsea had gone to sleep. I recall not wanting to talk to anyone at first, but then a few shots later…

As I hurry home, I can only hope that she's still asleep and I'd be able to tell her that I decided to get up early.

Standing just outside the door of our tiny apartment, I pause for a moment and take a deep breath before going in.

 _Alright, here goes nothing._

And of course, Chelsea's sitting on an arm of the couch, facing the front door with her arms crossed.

"Nice of you to show up," she says in a tense voice.

"Chelsea, I'm sorry—"

"Oh! You're sorry! Well, I suppose everything's fine then. I mean, sure, you just went out in the middle of the night, got drunk, fucked another girl, and spent the night with her, but hey – you're sorry! I'll just go ahead and forget about it then."

 _How the hell does she know I was with another—_

"Huh, you actually thought you could get away with this? Marisa saw you leaving the bar with her. She came over here and told me last night."

"Look, Chelsea, I'm really—"

"Let me guess, you're _really_ sorry. That'll do it for sure."

"The hell do you want me to say?!" I shout as I hurl a picture frame across the room, watching as the glass shatters violently upon impact.

"I messed up, okay? I messed up real bad. I don't deserve your forgiveness, alright?"

For a few seconds, the only sound in the room comes from Chelsea quietly sobbing into her hands. I decide to continue.

"I remember the very day you told me you were pregnant. I remember feeling something I hadn't felt in a while – hope, a spark, a _future_ for us. I'd have a chance at being the kind of father I never had as a kid. And in that moment it was clear to me what we were meant to be. I put in extra shifts at work, even got a promotion. But when we lost him… I just couldn't handle it. I was angry. Angry because I was forced to wake up to a world I no longer wanted to see, angry because my best shot at a bright future was taken away before we even had a fucking chance. I realized then that there's not going to be a happy life in store for me. There never was. And you're all I have left now, Chelsea. I've got nothing else. Please, don't take that away too…"

"I'm sorry, Daley. You've completely lost it. I'm not taking anything away from you – you're the one who's pushed me away."

And with that, I lose her too.

* * *

Veranda Quinton

District 3 Female

18 Years Old

I look to the sky. _Good, should be at least another two hours of daylight._

And so, I begin my trek through the woods in our back yard. This is the first step of my plan, which has been underway for a few years now. Over the years, I've built a sort training area in a clearing within these woods, containing a range for archery and throwing knives, a few dummies for sword or knife work, and a small pit for making fires. I convinced my father to get me some items that were particularly hard to find, by proclaiming my admiration for Tributes in past Hunger Games. For example, I received a bow-and-arrow set by telling my father that I was a huge fan of the highly popular Katniss Everdeen from the 74th, even though I can't stand that poor District Twelve tramp.

Over time, I've found that I'm most comfortable with a knife in my hand. It's light, easy to use, and effective. The downside, of course, is that you need to be within striking range of the person you're trying to kill (I'm not great with throwing knives, but they'd be my second choice). By reading books, I study knife-fighting techniques and which parts of the body to attack for maximum effectiveness.

Beyond combat skills, I also do plenty of running around the land my family owns. In addition, I make sure to go swimming in our pool regularly just in case it becomes necessary in the Arena.

I should point out that I'm not trying to be one of those non-Career-District-Careers that we seem to see every now and then in the Games. I'm not an idiot. What I'm doing is mainly for protection, for defending myself. I fully realize that regardless of what I can do here in Three, it can't compare with the training that those brutes receive. No, my real weapon is myself: my looks, my charm, my ability to manipulate. My sponsors will provide me with ample supplies when I need them, because I'll be massively popular among the Capitolites.

And after I win, I'm going to marry one of them.

* * *

Daley Keen

District 3 Male

15 Years Old

As I'm walking down the street, shivering since I can't afford a coat, I'm reminded that today's a pretty special day.

Not because it's the day before Reaping Day, but because exactly one year ago, I was fired from my job at Factory 9. Rightfully so too – I beat up my supervisor in a fit of rage, sending him to the hospital.

Got a nice public flogging to go along with it too. And guess who replaced me? Zander Quinton, my buddy told me. Son of Charles Quinton, yes, _the_ Charles Quinton.

None of that matters any more, I suppose. But needless to say, that day changed my life quite a bit.

I turn the corner, enter an unremarkable apartment building, and head straight for the elevators, hitting the button for the 14th floor.

I'm paying yet another visit to the Mitchells. They're a nice enough couple in their mid-40s, just a little bored at the moment, perhaps. Both of them work for Quinton Semiconductor, Mr. Mitchell as an IT support specialist, and his wife as a software engineer.

The elevator arrives at the 14th floor, making a loud "buzz" sound right before the doors open. I walk down the hall to their apartment.

I knock. A few seconds later, Mr. Mitchell is peering through the door's eye-hole. I smile at him.

He opens the door. "Hey, good to see you. Come on in," he says, quickly closing it behind me.

"Honey, he's here!" he shouts into the apartment.

"Give me one sec!" Mrs. Mitchell shouts back from somewhere inside.

"You want something to drink? We just made some coffee not too long ago," Mr. Mitchell offers.

"No thanks. I'm good."

"Alright. You can follow me then."

And so I do, down the hallway and into a small room where Mrs. Mitchell is.

"Hello Daley."

"Hello Mrs. Mitchell."

"It's good to see you again, as always," she says as her husband closes the door behind us.

"Now, take off your clothes."

* * *

 **AN: Thank you for these two Tributes. What do you guys think of them?**

 **Also, I realize that I'm leaving out the actual Reaping scene for many of these Tributes, but that's only to keep things from getting stale. If something important comes up during a Reaping that isn't shown in the Tribute's intro chapter, it'll be mentioned later.**

 **Thanks to everyone's who's been following the story, and as always, please leave a review! Your thoughts are incredibly important to me and are a big reason why I take the time to update every week.**


	12. Chasing Thrills (D1)

**AN: Our last pair of Careers! Thanks for these two, and I hope you enjoy.**

* * *

Miracle Emerson

District 1 Female

18 Years Old

 _~~6 Years Ago~~_

Last night, I had a dream. _That_ dream. The one I've been having for years now.

But it seemed so real, more like an actual memory, an experience that's played back to me in my sleep.

It's always the middle of the night when everyone's asleep, with the only sound to be heard coming from the monotonous ticking of the antique clock in my room. My father would quietly open my bedroom door and ask me to take a walk with him outside. We'd trek through the vineyard, my arms feeling the cold dew on the leaves as I brush up against them. There'd be a small cabin at the edge of our property, right about where the vineyard meets the woods. He'd bring me inside the cabin, which was lit by a single naked lightbulb suspended over the center of the room. There was always another girl around my age in the cabin, and I'd play with her, whether it'd be dress-up, pretending to cook, or something else. Each time I'd have this dream, the girl was different. We were always around the same age, but everything else about her would change with each visit.

And now I'm walking through the vineyards again, but by myself and in the middle of the day. I retrace the steps we took in the dream and find the same cabin exactly where it's supposed to be. I open the door to find it exactly as I'd seen, with a single lightbulb dangling over the middle of the room, but there was no girl.

I don't know how many times I've come out here to the cabin, but each time the story's the same: the light is off, and nobody's there.

* * *

Bliss Emerson

District 1 Male

18 Years Old

 _~~6 Months Ago~~_

It's our day off from the Academy, a rare chance to visit home and relax a bit.

I'm on our deck overlooking the vineyard, lazing back in a lawn chair and sipping on a Negroni. The serenity is interrupted suddenly by a commotion coming from within the vineyard. I sit up and see Miracle and my father standing in between the rows arguing over something. There's another girl with them, and my father is holding onto her arm.

I get up and begin making my way over to them. As I get closer, I can hear the little girl sobbing.

"Hey, what's going on here?" I ask and I approach them.

"You need to get out of here," my father replies menacingly, turning towards me and letting go of the girl, who quickly runs to Miracle.

Everything next happens in a blur. He starts to get very aggressive with me, and eventually attacks me. I had to put him in a sleeper hold to defend myself.

I turn around and see that Maxon, my younger brother, has joined us. His face shows a mix of confusion and fear.

I lay my father on the ground and turn to him.

"Maxon, go get Peacekeeper Matthews from down the street."

"But what's—"

"Just go!"

* * *

Miracle Emerson

District 1 Female

18 Years Old

 _~~3 Months Ago~~_

 _Thud._

I look down the range to see that the arrow has landed near the dead-center of the bullseye.

"Nice shot," I remark.

"Thanks, I try," Isabel replies as she draws another arrow.

"You're not thinking of signing up for the trials, are you?" I ask.

"Oh, but I am. I love the idea of training for a decade just to be killed by some skinny Capitol egghead sitting behind a computer screen."

 _That's typical Isabel for you,_ I think to myself. Her sharp sarcasm and aggressive attitude was what drew us together back when we were only eight years old. We've been the closest of friends since then, and in recent years we've sometimes pushed the boundaries of being "just friends." But of course, she understood me and knew that I couldn't tolerate any kind of long-term sameness in my life, and so we had an unspoken agreement to keep things casual. She's also one of the few people who stuck by me after everyone found out about what happened with my father.

 _Thud._ Another bullseye.

"Good, because I've been wanting to tell you…" I begin.

"You're really gonna do it?"

"Yeah."

She sets her bow down and turns to face me.

"You'll probably get it then. People aren't exactly running over each other to get into the Games now after what happened last year, not that you can't handle these scrubs anyway."

She's trying her best to sound excited for me, but I can sense the disappointment and sorrow in the tone of her voice, and it hurts.

"It's just that I can't stand life in One anymore. Like, I can't walk down the hall without being stared at. Jade, Opal, and the others – they all turned their backs on me. My mother's now an alcoholic, and our vineyard's run out of business…"

"I'm sorry, Mira. You know that none of this is your fault."

"Doesn't seem to bother most people."

"I guess none of it would matter anymore if you win the Games."

"That's what I'm thinking. And just imagine the thrill of being in there – on national TV, fighting for your life. Totally exciting stuff."

"You're crazy, you know that, right?" she says with a smirk.

I smile back. "Nah, just bored."

"Well, your chances look good. You're pretty deadly with short swords, charismatic, gutsy… Plus, being hot doesn't hurt either."

"Oh stop, you're making me blush."

* * *

Bliss Emerson

District 1 Male

18 Years Old

 _~~3 Months Ago~~_

Taking extra time to aim, I wind my arm back and throw the small knife downrange.

It hits the target two rings out from the bullseye.

I smash my palm into the metal dividers, generating a loud crashing sound.

 _What the hell is going on? I almost never land anything outside the first ring._

"Everything okay?" a voice behind me asks. I can tell it belongs to Scarlet, my closest friend, and one of my only ones at that.

"Oh, hey there… Yes, everything's fine. Just missin' a few throws."

"No biggie. Happens to everyone."

"You know everyone hates me, right?" I say somewhat abruptly.

"Well, I don't," Scarlet answers innocently.

"Yes, but everyone else does. I haven't talked to Blaise in months. Same with Lucian. Oh, and Estelle. She has every right to – her sister was one of the girls my father killed."

"Hey, look. You're you, alright? You're nothing like him."

"Not now. But what if I become who he was?"

"I don't think—"

"It's possible, isn't it. Well, I'm not just gonna sit around and wait for it to happen. I'm signing up for the trials."

"Are you serious? You don't remember what happened last year? These people are targeting Careers."

"That may be, but I have no life here! My father murdered over a dozen little girls. Nobody is ever going to look at me the same way again."

"You know I'll miss you…"

"I can win it all. I have the skills for it."

"You're not worried that you could die?"

"We all die anyway," I reply flatly, "But I need some excitement before I do. And if the answer to that is the Games, well so be it."

* * *

Miracle Emerson

District 1 Female

18 Years Old

"So, when were you gonna tell me?" I ask him as I enter his room.

"Oh, hey there. Tell you what?"

"That you were doing the trials."

"You never told me _you_ were doing the trials either."

I sigh. I guess he was right. We used to be really close, back when we first signed up. Bliss was often bullied, and Isabel and I would defend him. Over the years, we've slowly drifted apart. Our relationship as siblings was summarized by little more than quick greetings as we saw each other walking down the hallway.

"You're right, Bliss," I concede after some silence, "I should have told you. And now we're both going in."

"Looks that way."

"At least we'll be able to trust each other. Makes things a bit easier."

"And what if it's the two of us left at the end?" he asks.

"That's… unlikely," I answer hesitantly, "Let's just leave it at that."

"Fine with me."

"It'll be just you and me, Bliss, against 22 others."

"We can take 'em. I have no doubt."

"Good to see you're so confident," I say, trying to lighten the tone, "Going for that stereotypical District One angle?"

"And what's your angle, the charming dumb blonde?"

We laugh together, reminding us of old days spent chasing each other through the vineyard. And we try our very best not to think about the fact that, in just a few weeks, only one of us will still be alive.

* * *

 **AN: What are your thoughts on this? Please review!**

 **With only two more to go, we're nearing the end of the intros. For the next phase of the story (i.e. train rides, training, etc.), the POVs won't all be parallel, meaning that we won't necessarily follow each Tribute through all the steps, in order to advance the plot. I will try my best to keep the POVs even in length.**

 **I'm currently thinking about alliances and possible Bloodbath Tributes, but nothing's been set in stone.**


	13. Outliers (D11)

**AN: And we're back. Please let me know what you think of these two!**

* * *

Halcyon "Hal" Eldwin

District 11 Male

15 Years Old

"Hey Brier? Thanks for doing this for me."

"Don't mention it. We would've done this a while ago if we didn't have to wait till I was 18," she replied.

A woman walks into the waiting room. "273, please come with me."

A mother and her son get from their seats in the far corner and follow the woman.

"We're 274, right?" I ask Brier.

"Yup. We're up next."

"Good."

At this point, it was just us, a boy and his older sister, sitting in the unnecessarily large waiting room. I guess mid-morning on a Monday was not the best time for dealing with bureaucracy.

"I wanna talk to you about something," Brier says, breaking the temporary silence.

"Sure thing."

"You know Wis is planning on moving in with us, right?"

"Yeah, she told me a while ago."

"You should come with us too."

Brier is referring to the house that she and her girlfriend Rose are going to buy. My other older sister, Wisteria, had been planning to move out of our parents' house for a while, and this was the perfect opportunity.

"I'm not so sure about that. It'll just be Dale left with mom and dad."

"So what?" she counters, "He's their favorite child anyways. Plus, he treats you like crap."

"I don't really think it's all his fault. He's still young and they've had a big influence on him…"

"Well, he's 13. Old enough to think for himself. You know he still refers to you as his sister?"

"Look, Brier, I really appreciate the offer, but it's just that things have been really tense lately and I- I don't want to make the situation worse."

"Hal, you're not doing anything wrong, alright? They're the ones that have a problem. And hopefully they'll see that in time."

The woman is back. "274?"

We get up and follow her down the hallway and through a few doors, before directing us into a small office.

A middle-aged man with glasses is filling out some forms at his desk and doesn't acknowledge us as we take our seats on the other side. The woman walks in behind us and places a manila folder on the desk before leaving.

After a few seconds, he puts the forms to the side and opens the folder.

"Alrighty, let's see. Hal-sye-in?"

"Just Hal is fine."

"Alright, and you would like to be listed as a male for all legal purposes?"

"Yes, please."

"At least you're dressed the part. And you're his… older sister I assume?"

"That's right," Brier answers.

"I'll need you both to sign here then," he continues, placing the form in front of us and sliding us a pen. "And do you understand that all the additional entries from tesserae carry over to the male Reaping bowl?"

"I do."

Brier hands me the pen and I sign the form.

"That should be it then. Good timing, too."

"Why's that?" Brier asks.

"President Greenleaf's outlawing almost all gender changes starting next year."

* * *

Amanda Arc

District 11 Female

18 Years Old

It's been just over a year since I've seen my family. On that night they decided that it was too much, that they simply couldn't handle me anymore. They handed me a little bit of money and wished me luck. Told me that they saw some ads for work on the other side of the Eleven. I remember seeing my little sister Cherry staring silently at me from halfway up the stairs as I stepped out their door one last time. She didn't even wave.

I guess I shouldn't blame them, but after all, I can't help that I'm a wolf. Yes, that's right. A wolf.

I discovered this fact about myself when I was around 12 years old. For the longest time, my parents thought that it was just a bizarre phase, that it would go away on its own over time. That was what the doctor told them too.

But of course, I never stopped being a wolf.

After they kicked me out, I made my way to the other side of the District. I managed to sneak onto a truck carrying persimmons for part of the journey but had to walk for the rest of it.

One of the ads stapled to a utility pole led me to a sizeable farm right at the edge of the District, with the rows of corn and fruit trees ending at the fence itself. The owner introduced himself as Mr. Bradley and offered me a job maintaining the chicken coops. I explained that it wouldn't be such a good idea, since I was a wolf. Surprisingly, without any hesitation, he had me go collect fruits from the orchard instead.

So that became my life. Daytime was spent climbing trees and collecting a variety of fruits. Nighttime was spent prowling the fields, fully embracing the wolf in me.

Soon enough, I bought a wooden shack at the edge of Mr. Bradley's property, where I'd occasionally return to sleep.

* * *

Halcyon "Hal" Eldwin

District 11 Male

15 Years Old

Ah, dinnertime the night before Reaping Day. A family tradition that's surprisingly stuck around so far. All six of us were here at the table: mom, dad, Brier, Wis, Dale, and me. Now _that_ was pretty rare.

As we started eating, few words were being exchanged around the table.

Mom attempts to break the silence.

"So, Brier, where did you and Hal go yesterday?"

"We went to the Justice Building to get his gender changed," answers Brier straightforwardly.

"You _what_?" dad exclaims.

"Yeah, that's where we went today."

"Oh boy, this isn't going away isn't it," dad remarks. Mom's just shaking her head.

Wis cuts in.

"No, it isn't going to just go away. This is how he feels. He can't help it," she says forcefully.

"Well, it's all bullshit to me. That's how _I_ feel," dad retorts.

"I mean, can't you two just get over it already? He's still your son."

"We only have one son."

"Why can't she just act normal?" Dale chips in. "We've got plenty of other things to worry about."

" _He_ , Dale. Don't be an immature little shit," Wis scolds him.

"Language!" mom shouts.

Wis scoffs. "Right, that's the real problem right now. Language."

"The sooner you move in with Brier and her little girlfriend, the better," dad says as he throws down his fork and leaves the table. Mom follows him.

"Yeah, I agree," Wis shoots back, getting up from the table as well.

With just the three of us left, Brier turns to me.

"Maybe it'll get better over time," she says, "You've been so patient and understanding. Hopefully they'll appreciate that one day."

* * *

Amanda Arc

District 11 Female

18 Years Old

As I'm tossing apples down into the large basket below me, my mind is lingering on memories of last night. Prowling through the orchards and fields, sneaking up on and chasing small animals, howling at the moon… I was allowed to be who I am, without anyone judging me, kicking me out, or sending me for medical help.

My reverie is interrupted by someone calling out my name.

Looking down, I see Mr. Bradley walking towards me.

"Don't worry, your shift hasn't ended yet."

"What can I do for you then?" I ask him.

"Just wanted to remind you that the Reaping's tomorrow. Obviously, you'll have the day off."

 _Huh. Already? It would be my last one too._

"Thanks for reminding me, Mr. Bradley."

"And don't be late," he quickly replies, "I don't want any Peacekeepers storming onto my property."

As he's beginning to walking away, Mr. Bradley turns around once again.

"Listen, Amanda. You're a good kid, you know? I'm not sure how you're going about this whole wolf thing, but try an' make sure nobody sees you, alright? It's better that way for all of us."

I give him a slight nod before turning back to the task at hand.

I wonder how I'd fare if I somehow manage to be Reaped this year. All of Panem would see who I am. There'd be no way for me to get into an alliance.

But that'd be fine. I'm different. And I'd have some attributes that would help me out, like my climbing ability from scaling all these trees. I'm stealthy too, from the nights spent stalking animals. There's also the bits and pieces of knowledge I've picked up from working for Mr. Bradley.

I guess maybe my chances wouldn't be all that bad.

* * *

Halcyon "Hal" Eldwin

District 11 Male

15 Years Old

 _It all happened so fast_ , I think to myself as I pace around the little room tirelessly.

My name was called. Right after I had them moved to the male Reaping bowl. None of my sisters could volunteer for me. I froze.

I remember Brier bursting into tears as Rose tried to comfort her. Wis was screaming for someone to volunteer, saying how I was just a little kid. A pair of Peacekeepers come to haul me to the stage, and Wis tries to attack them, but is subdued and led away.

The door opens – it's Brier, with Rose right behind her.

She hugs me for a long few seconds before I ask her about Wis.

"She'll be ok. A few lashes at most. But you know how tough she is."

"That's so good to hear. For a moment I thought that—"

"Listen, Hal," Brier cuts me off, "We're going to be fine here in Eleven. For once in your life, focus on yourself. You're going to be responsible for getting yourself out of there. You can't keep thinking about others."

"Here, I have something for you Hal," says Rose.

She hands a small ring, made of dark oak with a polished finish. I knew right away that Brier had made it for her.

"I can't take this with me. I just can't," I protest.

"You need to," Brier says, "Every Tribute needs a token."

"I'll bring it back to you. I know how special it is," I promise her.

A Peacekeeper informs them that their time is up. Brier begins to tear up again before giving me a final hug. She and Rose bid their final farewells before leaving.

A few seconds after they leave, Dale enters the room. He's by himself.

"Hey Dale. It's good to see you," I greet him.

"Hal, I just wanted to say I'm sorry. Sorry for treating you the way I did. And sorry that it took you getting Reaped for me to realize it. Wis was right. I am just an immature little shit…"

"That's not true at all, Dale. And don't worry about it," I reply.

"I really, really hope you'll come back to us. Try to find a decent alliance. Play it smart. I know you can do it."

"Thanks. And look after mom and dad for me, alright?"

"I will. I'm going to miss you, Hal."

"I'll miss you too, Dale."

"Good luck, brother."

* * *

 **AN: Only one more intro to go! Unfortunately, I most likely won't be able to update next week as I'll be busy studying for the MCAT (a med school entrance exam).**

 **As always, thanks for reading and please leave a review with your thoughts on the chapter.**


	14. Ambition (D9)

**AN: Well, it's been quite the wait, but here it is: the last intro chapter! I'll have more of an explanation for you in the closing notes.**

* * *

Whitney Mendoza

District 9 Female

16 Years Old

"You're hurting me!"

"That's the idea," I respond, "Hold still now."

With a few quick snips with the scissors I manage to produce a pixie cut for her. Well, calling it that was being generous, but you get the idea.

She's clearly incensed but forces a laugh.

"You fucked up, Whitney. Do you have _any_ idea what's gonna happen to you once people find out what you did to me?"

I smile at her.

"Well sweetie, the way I see it, it's your word against mine. Look around - we're alone in an alleyway. Do you actually think that anyone's gonna believe that Whitney Mendoza of all people did this? I'm the harmless good girl that tries hard at school. You're the infamous queen-bee bitch that pushes people around. Really, the odds aren't in your favor."

She's struggling with how to respond as I begin to walk away.

"This isn't the end of this!" she calls after me.

"You're right," I shout back, "It sure isn't."

It's far from being over. I'm going to go after the others that helped her plan it. Not all in the same way, of course – that would raise too many eyebrows. I'd have to get more creative, and make sure that no one can trace it all back to me.

I'll probably go back to Selene again. Her info on Arielle was good, which led to the little haircut I gave her.

Selene was an outcast, someone most people considered a bit "strange," and one who always keeps to herself. But she had a keen eye and could read people well. She could also easily eavesdrop on conversations at school since her presence was a complete non-issue for most people. They don't think she has a stake in anything, or that she'd ever actually be interested in what they're saying.

I approached her a few weeks ago. Naturally, she was a bit surprised at first, but I managed to win her trust quickly enough. And now, what we just might have going forward is a nice little quid pro quo – I get the information she gathers on my targets, and she gets the experience of friendship. Well, as long as that's what she thinks it is.

As observant and useful as she might be, Selene is still unmistakably naïve. What more could I ask for?

* * *

Audric Bract

District 9 Male

15 Years Old

How many people take a regular sleep schedule for granted? Being able to drift away when you're tired, sleep peacefully through the night, and wake up in the morning feeling refreshed and ready to tackle the day's tasks… Sometimes I imagine how it'd feel to live like that, the potential it unlocks inside you, the things that you'd be able to achieve.

Take right now, for instance. I'm waking up not to the sharp ring of an alarm clock, or to the chirping of birds outside my window, but rather to the crack of a District Nine Peacekeeper's whip as it strikes my back.

I blink a few times and take in my surroundings. We're by a street just outside the fields where I work. Again.

That's right – this is far from being the first time. And if it weren't for the fact that the flogging actually hurt, I really wouldn't give a shit.

"Better not fall asleep on the job again, son," warns the Peacekeeper as he unties my hands from the wooden post. The few onlookers begin to disperse.

 _Well, maybe if it weren't so boring,_ I joke to myself.

As I prepare to take a nice, slow walk back to the fields, a voice behind me calls out.

"Audric?"

I spin around to see who it is.

"Mrs. Andersen!" I exclaim with forced enthusiasm, recognizing one of the teachers I had before I dropped out of school, "It's, uh, good to see you again. How've you been?"

"I'm doing well. How 'bout yourself? What was _that_ all about?"

"Oh, _that._ Nothin' new, just fell asleep on the job again. You remember how it is."

"Audric, you know I always believed you, right? I know some of the other teachers, maybe even most of them, didn't, but I did. And I could see the potential you had… how observant you were, and how much you wanted to do well."

"Um, thanks. Guess it doesn't really matter any more now," I reply indifferently.

"I think it does. Audric, would you consider coming back? You can pick up where you left off, finish your schooling. It'll open up better jobs for you and—"

"Actually, I'm fine where I'm at now Mrs. Andersen, but thanks for the offer," I say with finality.

"Give it some thought, Audric. Please. Don't let that potential go to waste."

I try to end the conversation. "Alright, I will. But I should get back to work now. Nice seeing you again."

"Yes, and hopefully I'll see you in school again."

And with a polite smile I turn back around and continue my languid trek into the fields.

 _No chance I'm going back to school. That shit's over for sure._

* * *

Whitney Mendoza

District 9 Female

16 Years Old

As the warm water washes over me, I cannot shake the thought from my head that today, I could have my last shower at home, my last conversation with my _Abuelita_ , or see my District for the last time. Any plans I made for the next year, the next few weeks, or even tomorrow might be rendered meaningless. Yes, it was my fifth Reaping, but my anxiety over it has never gotten any better. Maybe others felt this nervous about it as well? Nine is a small District after all. But for whatever reason, I've always had an unshakable feeling that one of these days, our Escort will pick my name out of that bowl.

The metallic ring of the timer signals the end of my minute-long shower. I quickly turn the water off so I don't cut further into our allotment.

I dry myself off before stepping in front of the mirror. Gazing at my reflection, I think long and hard about who I've come to be in the last few years. Getting payback against those girls back in middle school was only the beginning. I paid people to attack them, spread malignant rumors about them, even hooked up with one of their boyfriends. It wasn't only justified, it was necessary.

You see, Panem is not a post-race society. The Capitol completely ignores any matters concerning race or ethnicity, effectively giving a free pass to any form of discrimination based on skin color. The reason for this is simple, really – the more divided a people are among themselves, the harder it is for them to unite against their oppressors.

Naturally, this is a bigger issue in some Districts than others. Here in lily-white Nine though, let's just say that being a tan-skinned Hispanic wasn't the easiest thing in the world. What those girls did to me was only one of countless incidents, near-daily reminders of how I'd never truly be accepted.

So I forgot about trying to be liked. The sweet-girl act was clearly not working and was never going to work. Instead, I learned that being feared and reluctantly respected got you a lot further.

" _Mija_ , if you really want it, nothing can stop you," _Abuelita_ had said, "You're a Mendoza."

That was years ago, the very day of the incident back in middle school. Today, I'm high up in the ranks of the mayoral interns, with far more enemies than friends. But I am exactly where I want to be – since there are no elections in the Districts, the mayors are appointed by the Capitol and are generally independent of their popularity among the residents of their District. They want someone effective, capable. And so far, I believe I've shown exactly that.

* * *

Audric Bract

District 9 Male

15 Years Old

You might be wondering if I've ever fallen asleep during a Reaping ceremony. The answer: yes indeed. Not that I cared. It was just like falling asleep at work, except the Reaping is even less stimulating. The consequences were similar too (just another flogging).

This year's is as boring as ever. All 15,000 or so of us are gathered at the District center. The same Escort, Brielle Pendleton (or maybe it was Brianna), takes to the stage, the same corny propaganda vid plays, and then she gives the same overly effusive greeting to the crowd.

Even if I don't feel a sudden onset of sleepiness, I pretty much zone out anyway, maybe briefly looking up only to see who was called.

And when I look up this year, I see someone I recognize. She's got darker skin (compared to vast majority of people in Nine, though definitely not as dark as mine) and is relatively small. She's older than me, but I remember her from middle school. Ambitious girl, big into political stuff. Aggressive and hyper-competitive, she wasn't someone you'd want to mess with. I first heard about her when I was in 7th grade – apparently some girls had pulled quite a nasty prank on her at school…

Seeing her walk up to the stage made me somewhat nostalgic for the ol' schooldays. It was hard to keep up with my friends after I started working, given how much of your time it takes up. Since I left, I've pretty much drifted away from all of 'em. Maybe we'd make some light conversation if I bumped into them on the streets or in the tessera line, but we've all moved on, more or less.

While I'm still reminiscing about these former times, I hear the Escort call my own name.

* * *

Whitney Mendoza

District 9 Female

16 Years Old

 _Can't panic. Panic is unproductive. Need to plan. Planning is productive. Alright, I can do this. Let's start with the one who's going in with me._

He's dark-skinned. Short, but not weak-looking. That's a good sign at least. He has a nonchalant look about him, even as he's walking up to the stage? Just an act? Or maybe he's just naturally low-effort. We'll have to see. I wonder what he brings to the table…

How bad can the Games really be? It's a competition, just like the world outside the Arena. Only the strong survive.

Well, I _am_ strong.

I am a Mendoza.

* * *

 **AN: Thank you all so much for your continued support. I recognize that it's been a really long time since the last update, and I apologize for that.**

 **Since my last update, I've been cramming for the MCAT, which I took a few weeks ago (I feel it went relatively well). I was also seated on a jury in a civil case that lasted 3 days. Right after that, I started work (8-9 hours a day, not including the commute). I've been working on this chapter in bits and pieces, so it might seem a bit disjointed. Please let me know what you think of it!**

 **All the Tributes have been introduced now, so if you haven't had a chance to review yet, now would be a great opportunity to let me know your thoughts on our Tributes!**

 **We've managed to get through all the intro chapters in less than 5 months, which is not too bad. There's a lot to be looking forward to with these characters, who will be meeting one another very soon.**

 **I can't pinpoint when the next update will be, but I will do my best to make sure the wait is not as long. Until then!**


	15. Scoping out the Competition

**AN: So… it's been awhile again. For this chapter, I have a few Tributes talking about other Tributes with their Mentors. Anyway, I hope you like it.**

* * *

Miracle Emerson

District 1 Female

18 Years Old

The room is quiet. I'm just lying on the couch, toying with my hair out of boredom, Bliss is sampling pastries at one end of the car, and our Escort, Scarlett, was sitting on a couch opposite me, furiously typing away on her thin little phone. Our Mentors were yet to be seen.

In fact, without looking out the window, you could barely tell we were even on a train. That's how smooth the ride is.

"So…" I begin, trying to break the silence, "What's going on with you?"

"Just the usual," Scarlett replies without looking up from her phone. "My husband would like me to appear at this VIP event, but I cannot, since I'll be busy with you two."

 _Great. How am I supposed to build off of that?_

As the room becomes quiet again, I think about what she just said.

Scarlett is no ordinary Capitolite (assuming any of them could be considered "ordinary"). She's married to Ardwin Lachance, whose company supplies the vast majority of the Capitol's electricity and is, of course, backed by the Panem government. Hell, the guy practically owns District Five.

Not that I'd know for sure, but she's probably the wealthiest out of all the Escorts. And fittingly enough, she was assigned to One.

And then, the door at the end of the car slides open, and our two Mentors step into the room.

I instantly recognized both of them: Serenity Martell (who preferred to be called "Seri") and Tiberius Englewood. They were both classic District One Careers – deadly, but also charming and charismatic. Their Games were won just a few years apart and rejuvenated One's Career program, which had been stagnating for a while.

"Alright, free time is over. Let's get to work," Tiberius says with a commanding tone.

"We'll start by watching recaps of the Reapings. You need to know your competition if you want to beat your competition," Seri continues.

Bliss, who up until this point had been somewhat awkwardly staring at the two of them, walks over and joins me on the couch. Scarlett looks up briefly but otherwise barely acknowledges the presence of our two Mentors.

Tiberius points a remote at the massive TV screen. "Let's start with Two."

We see their District square. Clean, but much less impressive than ours. The festivities are toned down a bit too. The Escort begins to read someone's name, only to be interrupted by the customary "I volunteer!" shout.

The girl, Cora, has one side of her head shaved, with a look on her face that suggests she hardly ever smiles. The guy, Dominic, has more of a classic Career look to him: tall and well built, blonde and somewhat tanned.

"I know they're the only ones we've seen so far," Bliss comments, "But I feel like they'll be our toughest competition."

"I agree," replies Tiberius, "And there was a special… situation with the ones from Four too. You'll see in a sec."

* * *

Emberly Layden

District 12 Female

13 Years Old

Cardiff is sitting by the window and gazing out into the wilderness. Sometimes we'd pass some ruins of old buildings, which seem to pique his curiosity.

 _Maybe I should introduce myself. He's really tall and seems nice enough – we could be allies. Plus, we only have one Mentor anyway…_

While I'm working out how to approach him, Elise, our Escort, storms into the room.

"Really? You two still aren't talking? Come on, let's go, introduce yourselves," she says, motioning with her hands.

Cardiff gets up and walks over to me. He holds out his hand.

"Hi. I'm Cardiff."

"Emberly," I reply, shaking his hand, which seems ridiculously larger than mine.

"There we go. That's a good start," remarks Elise.

Right at that moment a plain-looking man who looks to be in his early 30s walks in. "Indeed it is," he says, "Your District partner is the closest thing to someone you can trust once you get in there."

"Henry Sadler Jr. Pleased to meet both of you," he continues as he shakes our hands.

I've heard of him. Pretty much everyone in our little District has. The first Victor from Twelve in goodness-knows-how-long. He was a coal miner, and his humility and upstanding character won him quite a number of fans in the Capitol. Only killed one person in the Arena, who happened to be a Career.

"And now that you two know each other, you need to know who you're up against."

He walks up to the TV and turns it on.

 _This'll be my first time watching Hunger Games coverage,_ I think to myself. My mother never let me.

"You two enjoy now. I'll be back later."

And just like that, he was gone. Cardiff and I glance at each other before sitting down on the couch.

District One is up first.

It takes me a moment to realize that this is a Reaping we're watching. Their District square is decorated with brightly colored banners and balloons. Everyone seems to be chatting with each other without a care in the world. Some people were even sipping on a clear, somewhat golden drink served in these tall glasses.

So that's what a Reaping looks like in a Career District. I have heard other kids at school talk about Careers, but it wasn't until now that I realize just how much they change things. No one else has to be worried about being Reaped. The Reaping becomes a yearly celebration instead of a da0y of sadness. And it left me with even more anxiety.

"It really is just a game to them," Cardiff remarks, "Even though the vast majority of them won't be coming home anyway."

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised that this is what their Reaping looks like…" I say in response.

"It wasn't always like this. Took them a few years to get their own training system started. The Capitol tried to stop it at first, but they realized that they _needed_ Careers to keep the Games interesting for the audience."

"They look so strong, and tall… Not as tall as you though."

Cardiff chuckles. "Well, that's all just one part of it. The real difference-maker is the mentality and the skills. They're in it to hunt and kill people like us."

"You seem pretty relaxed about it," I point out.

"Well, here's the thing," he replies smiling, "I'm a big history nerd, you know? And a big reason why is because of the incredible people you get to learn about. Many of them have had the odds clearly stacked against them but still refused to back down. Instead, they used whatever they had to accomplish great things. Yeah, we might have only one Mentor, and yeah, we're from the statistically worst-performing District in the Games, but those stats mean nothing to me because they're based on other people in other Games. Our odds are whatever we make 'em out to be."

"I'm sure your chances are fine. But for me…" I begin.

"Hey. We're in this together, alright?"

"Really? You'd actually want me as an ally?" I ask, somewhat astonished.

"Well, you're from Twelve. That means you're the closest thing I have to family in there. And that's definitely good enough for me."

And for the first time since the Reaping, I smiled.

* * *

Dominic "Dom" Axton

District 2 Male

18 Years Old

I'm sneaking glances over at her as she's staring down at the table, trying hard to avoid eye contact.

 _Seems kinda moody. Might be one of those crazy ones, especially once the Games start._

I'm wondering if maybe she had a rough childhood, before realizing that we all had basically the same childhood – one that consisted of training 12 hours a day, 7 days a week, most of us since we were 7 or 8 years old. Not a whole lot of fun things to do during the little free time we had anyway, so you can imagine why we tend to produce some true crazies every now and then.

But really Careers aren't all that bad. At the end of the day, two people from each District need to go into that Arena, so it might as well be someone trained, someone who's maximized their chances of survival. Not everyone is capable or willing to handle that responsibility, but I am.

It fits with my personality anyway. Competitiveness and athleticism was what got me recruited back when I was 7, so they tell me. Sure, the Games are a risk, but the rewards of being a Victor are worth it. Plus, my chances are fairly good.

We just finished watching the recap of the Reapings and are now listening to Marius, one of our Mentors, give us briefings on the other Tributes. Emphasis is placed on the other Careers, of course. And if you're wondering how our Mentors get this information, let's just say that Victors tend to quickly gain friends in the Capitol, and that these friends are usually able to find out information about those in other Districts.

"Miracle and Bliss Emerson," Marius states, "A sibling duo. Their father did some terrible things to some kids and now their family's hated. Not too much of a threat, to be honest. Volunteer interest in One is at an all-time low after that shit-show last year."

I nod to show I'm listening. Cora just keeps staring at the table.

"As for Four, we have another sibling pair, can ya believe that?" Marius exclaims. "Bean and Poco Olas. The girl's only 14 and seems relatively harmless for a Career. The boy is 17 and will probably be your biggest threat this year.

"Interesting… So how'd they both end up here together?" I ask.

"Apparently the sister was Reaped, and the girl who was supposed to volunteer was a no-show. Then the brother beats up the boy who was supposed to volunteer in order to protect the sister, I guess."

"No list of backups, huh," I remark.

"They're not as well run as we are, to say the least."

"So, a brother volunteering to save his little sister…" I continue.

Cora finally decides to speak up. "The Capitol will eat this shit up. Too bad it's been done before."

"I doubt it would matter much," I reply, "You know how they like to hype up things like this…"

"Should be a fun pair to kill. Especially if happens at the same time and place," Cora says in a low voice.

"Don't care how they die. Long as they do."

"Let's not get too ahead of ourselves now," Marius chimes in, "We haven't even gotten to the Capitol yet. It's hard to tell how good she is but based on her age and appearance alone, it's safe to say that she'll be the weakest link in the Career pack, so keep that in mind."

"Won't be a long-lasting alliance, I don't think. The two sibling pairs will only be looking out for each other," I comment.

"Which makes it all the more important that the two of you stick together. Been awhile since Two's last win," replies Marius.

Cora and I subtly glance at each other.

"Guess that's fair," I say, while she stays silent.

"Anyway, besides the Careers, you'll probably want to keep an eye out for the boy from Seven, girl from Ten, and boy from Twelve, based on what little we know about 'em so far."

Our Escort, Harper, peeks her head in from the door.

"Marius, she's up now."

"Thanks for letting me know," he replies.

"Who's 'she'?" I ask.

"Your other Mentor. She was up late last night prepping the Tribute files."

"Aelia, right?" Cora enquires.

"Not this year," responds Marius, "She fell ill a few days ago."

"Who's it gonna be then?"

"Me," says an unknown voice from the doorway.

We all look up to see a shorter woman in her late 20s standing there, with dark hair tied back in a ponytail. Cora and I recognize her immediately.

It is none other than Clove Demarest, Victor of the 74th Games.

* * *

 **AN: Please review! I apologize for the update speed, but I do expect things to be more regular once the school year starts up again.**

 **There are quite a few new characters (Mentors and Escorts) that will be introduced over the next few chapters. Most of them aren't hugely important, but I'll create a list on my profile to help you keep track.**


	16. Trust and Mistrust

AN: Yep, I'm still around. And here's the next chapter of train rides.

Daley Keen

District 3 Male

15 Years Old

Veranda's throwing me dirty looks. We haven't said anything to each other since boarding the train, but I can already tell what she thinks of me.

Her brother Zander was my replacement at Factory 9. Small world… Or District, I guess, since Three _was_ my world before I got on this train.

Veranda and I are going to make quite the duo. She's the daughter of the richest man in Three; I was borderline homeless trying my best to keep the clothes on my back and a shitty roof over my head.

And to make things even more interesting, she actually volunteered. How wild.

It was time to break the ice.

"So, why'd you volunteer?" I ask her.

She just sits there at the dark wooden table, picking at her nails, pretending like she didn't hear me.

"Look, I guarantee you it'll be easier for both of us if you could just answer," I continue.

"And what makes you think that?" she shoots back.

"Because I'm the closest thing you'll have to a friend once we get in there."

"I'm not interested in an allying with you."

"Never mind an alliance – as of right now I'm the only that won't be trying to kill you the second that countdown ends."

"That'll change," she replies confidently.

I could feel my blood pressure rising, but before I have a chance to say anything else, two people who I presume to be our Mentors enter the car.

They introduce themselves to me, as Veranda seems to already know who they are: Tecca Lornier and Linkus Ryman. Their names sound familiar to me, but I never paid much attention to the Games.

"Please, have a seat," Linkus says to me.

Once we're all settled in around the wood table, Tecca begins.

"So, first order of business, are you two interested in allying with each other?"

"That depends. What do you bring to the table?" she asks, looking directly at me.

"What, you mean besides my charming personality? Well, I've been told I have a pretty sizeable package."

She scoffs. Tecca looks unimpressed and Linkus lets out a quick snicker.

"Besides," I continue, "What do you have besides daddy's money?"

Veranda seems to be somewhat taken aback by the change in my tone, which brings me an ever-so-slight bit of joy.

"Alright, alright. We'll say that's a 'no' for now," Linkus cuts in before she has a chance to reply.

"Clearly you two aren't going to be best friends, but try not to kill each other right away in the Arena, okay?" says Tecca.

"I know. That's always been frowned upon. _Unfortunately_ ," Veranda remarks.

"We can train you two separately later on," Tecca continues, "But for now, we'll brief you together on the other Tributes."

"First thing: Careers," announces Linkus, "The good news is, this group will probably be one of the weaker Career packs in recent years. Bad news is, they're still Careers. Look out especially for the pair from Two and the boy from Four."

"What makes them weaker this year?" Veranda asks.

"Well, the girl from Four is only 14. And let's just say that the trainees in One weren't exactly jumping over each other to volunteer this year, given what happened last year."

"And get this – One and Four are both sibling pairs," Tecca adds.

 _A subpar Career group, huh. This could be the move._

Poco Olas

District 4 Male

17 Years Old

The door to Antonia's personal compartment was open, and I peered in to see her sitting on her cot, adjusting her makeup.

"Why hello Poco. How'd the briefing go?"

"Oh, well enough," I answered, "Our Mentors kept my full attention all the way through."

Indeed, Cyan Martens is a woman in her late fifties. Cold and straightforward, she had won her Games decades ago. Tyler Mooring, on the other hand, was Victor of the 84th Games and only 21 years old. He was fiery, energetic, and absolutely loved to talk. These two completely different Mentors made for an interesting and somewhat entertaining briefing.

"But listen, I have something important to tell you," I continue.

Antonia puts her makeup and mirror away. "Very well. Go ahead."

"When you start dealing with the sponsorship money and whatnot, I need you to prioritize the spending on Bean, alright? Make sure she gets what she needs, even if the money is supposed to be for both of us."

"Oh, that's very thoughtful of you, but—"

"Please. She has to make it home. You know that she isn't supposed to be here, that there was some serious fuck-up back there."

"Yes, I understand. It's all rather unfortunate. If this is what you want, then so be it. I'm sure the two of you will receive plenty of sponsorship money. I've already been in contact with my friends in the Capitol media, trying to get your story out there."

I smiled warmly. "Thank you, Antonia. I really do appreciate it."

On my way back to the main car, I bump into Tyler.

"You know, you're probably the first Tribute ever from Four who prefers that someone else wins their Games. But I admire what you're doing."

"She's not meant to be an actual Career, you know. She can't stand the thought of hurting someone. That's just how good she is."

"Why did she enroll at the DSA?" Tyler asks, appearing honestly confused.

"We both did it because it was the best option for us after our parents died in a boating accident."

"I'm really sorry to hear that," says Tyler.

"All she had to do was train. She would never have been selected anyway, and she'd be able to stay there until she turned 19. I never thought something like this would happen…"

"You had no reason to. The selected volunteer has never bailed before."

"Speaking of which, what ever happened to Delaney anyway?"

"Well, from what I've heard, she's perfectly fine. Just got cold feet or something."

"Heh. Cold feet. One of us will be dead because of her."

"She'll be punished by the DSA, of course."

"The same DSA that didn't bother selecting backup volunteers. Fucking morons."

Tyler simply shakes his head.

"Well, I don't want to keep moaning about all this. Should probably get some rest now."

"Good idea," he replies, "I'll see you around."

 _What a complete mess,_ I think to myself. Even with all that sponsorship money, no amount could prevent her from getting killed in the Bloodbath. No amount could protect us from having other Careers turn on us. But it wasn't necessarily safer to go on our own either…

All because of "cold feet."

Lynn Stackker

District 6 Female

16 Years Old

"You're 18, right?" I ask him, "Were you working?"

"Yeah," Jag replies in a low voice, "Mechanic. TH-47. You?"

"I delivered papers."

"Which one?"

"District Six Gazette," I answer.

"Hmm, never heard of it."

"It's a small business still. Relatively new."

He nods. For a moment the room was quiet except for the continuous drone of the train as it carries us towards the Capitol.

"Maybe we should stay focused on the Games," Jag suggests.

He's right, and I tell him that. Those days are already gone. Even if I do somehow make it out of the Arena, I wouldn't be going back to Six to deliver papers with Kenny. Chances are I wouldn't make it out alive, which makes reminiscing about home even more worthless.

Our mentors Lila and Velo had already given us their initial briefing on the other Tributes. And now they left us alone to discuss strategy and come up with a plan on our own. I'm sure they were taking full advantage of their time alone, given how they could barely keep their hands off each other during the briefing.

"Who do you think we should ally with?" he asks.

" _Should_ we even ally with anyone else?"

Allying with your District partner was very common, and relatively safe. It seems dangerous to add more people into the mix – they could try to betray us at the earliest opportunity.

"I think so. We need more than the two of us if we want to stand a chance against the Careers."

"I'm not so sure. We could get stabbed in the back."

"That may be. But it could help us from getting stabbing from the front."

"Fine. But if I feel that something's off, we leave."

"Fine with me."

"Who are you thinking of?" I ask him.

"The pair from Seven seem like a good choice. Cher and Alexei."

"The mayor's daughter," I recall, "I'm sure she knows a few things that'll come in handy."

"And Alexei seems strong, confident. Acted like it was nothing when he got Reaped,"

"That's worrying."

"I hear you. But it's mostly for the Bloodbath and the first few days after that. Once the number of Tribute drops down, no one's gonna want to stay in an alliance."

"Let's hope we stay alive long enough to walk out of it."

"I have a good feeling about this, Lynn. I really do."

"Alright then," I reply warily, "We should go tell Lila and Velo about this."

In truth, I'm really fortunate to have Jag as a District partner. He's beyond motivated and likes to plan things out. He's someone to keep me grounded and focused on what lies before us.

But of course, I remind myself that I can't trust him too much. At the end of the day, he's doing all this so _he_ can go back home.

AN: Sorry that it's been so long. All I can really say is that I've been busy and will continue to be. But I still fully intend to continue the story. So if you're still reading, thank you for your support. Really.

These train chapters will be conversation-heavy, but there's plenty of action waiting around the corner.

The MCAT turned out very well for me, so thanks to everyone who wished me luck.

I can't tell you when the next update will be, just that there will be one.


	17. Allies, Vintage, and Plants

**AN: I might have mentioned this before, but I don't plan on writing a POV for each character at each stage of the story. To prevent things from getting dry, I'll be trying to move the plot along while making sure all Tributes get a fair amount of coverage.**

* * *

Alexei Tepes

District 7 Male

18 Years Old

An arrow whizzes down the range and lodges itself firmly into a foam target.

"Good. You're getting closer to the center now," the trainer remarks.

With a half-smile Cher prepares to nock another arrow as the trainer turns to me at the neighboring station.

"Alright, let's see what you got."

It's my first time ever shooting an arrow, but how hard can it be? The bow had been a popular weapon in the Games since the very beginning.

I pull an arrow out from a tall metallic crate at my side. Then I nock it, pull the string as far back as I can, hold my breath, and release.

To my dismay, the arrow misses the target by a sizeable distance and bounces lamely off the concrete wall at the end of the range.

Cher stifles a laugh.

"You need to lift your elbow up more," said the trainer, while adjusting my right arm. "Now try again."

And I do. This time, the arrow manages to graze the side of the target before hitting the wall again.

"Keep at it. You'll get there soon enough."

With that, the trainer turns around to attend to some other task, leaving only Cher and I at the archery station.

"Maybe you should just be the archer," I suggest.

Cher releases another arrow, which lands right next to the bullseye.

"Yeah, maybe I should…" she replies facetiously.

"I'd be much better with an axe anyway. Surely they have a few somewhere in here."

The gymnasium is a large enough room that it'd be hard to see one end of it from the other. The ceiling is also kept high enough to accommodate the sophisticated obstacle and climbing courses.

While Cher is focused completely on her archery skills, I put down my own bow and decide to take a walk around the place in hopes of finding an axe to practice with.

The archery station is near one end of the gym, so I can easily tell that the 24 of us are spread rather evenly throughout the stations. I see the Careers over at the spears area, each concentrating intensely on their own task. On my other side I notice the small pair from Eleven tying knots, while the lovebirds from Eight are being taught about medicinal herbs by a trainer.

About halfway to the far side of the room, there's an unattended station with what appears to be several axes laid out in front of a target range. Approaching the station, I immediately notice that they're unlike anything I've seen before. Back home, the axes I've come across for lumber work were usually somewhat rusty and dulled, with a bare wooden handle that would chafe your hands raw. These ones before me have pristine matte black blades with a few holes drilled into it. The handle is made of some sturdy synthetic material with black cord wrapped around it for a better grip.

I pick one up to test the weight. _If only I could find one of these in the Arena._

"A Tribute from Seven who wields an axe, huh. How original."

I turn around to find a girl standing with her armed crossed, a brunette with her hair tied back in a short ponytail. I remember her – Lynn, from Six.

"It'll get the job done well enough. Dying isn't that original either," I respond.

"You're right. No one wants to die. Let's make an alliance. Six and Seven together."

 _Well, she certainly gets straight to the point._

"And why should we ally with you?"

"Simple. We're four competent, older Tributes. We stand a much better chance against the Careers if we stick together for a bit."

"Until you two decide to call it quits and stab us in the back."

"You guys could do the same."

"True, but I'm not the one asking for an alliance," I reply.

"Look," she says, "Jag is talking to Cher right about now. Would you two at least discuss it with each other and your Mentors tonight?"

"Can't hurt, I guess."

"Good. Then you can let us know tomorrow at breakfast."

"Alright then."

With that, she spins around and walked briskly towards the opposite end of the room, presumably to look for Jag.

The rest of training is relatively uneventful, and soon enough we're heading back up the elevator to our apartment on the seventh floor.

The place has five bedrooms in total, one each for the five of us staying there (Cher, myself, Kassandra, Brooke, and Dorian). In addition, there was one large room featuring sofas made of a strange material, a giant TV mounted on the wall, and a coffee table made of white stone. Next door was a dining room where an oddly shaped chandelier hung over a dark wood table that could comfortably seat 12. The furnishings were in line with the rest of the building we've seen so far – lots of straight lines, shiny surfaces, and glass everywhere.

Our apartment is served by three or four Avoxes, who according to Kassandra are found in almost all Capitol households nowadays. They have their own quarters elsewhere in the building, but even at night there is always at least one who stays in the suite, ready to attend to any matters necessary.

Brooke and Dorian are sitting on the sofas and immediate notice us come in.

Dorian beckons us over. "Have a seat, you two. We want to hear about your first training day."

"Make any new friends?" asks Brooke jokingly.

"Not friends, but maybe allies. Six is interested," I answer.

"I think we should," Cher blurts out.

 _Well that was quick._

"Why?" I ask, genuinely interested.

She half-shrugged. "We'd make a good group… We're all pretty capable, and it's two fewer people to look out for in the Bloodbath."

"She's got a point," says Dorian, "Statistically, solo Tributes are much more likely to die in the Bloodbath."

I sigh, knowing already how this conversation would turn out. "I guess. But when do we call it off?"

"Make an agreement. Break it up when there's only a certain number left," Brooke says.

"Or just leave when you feel like some fishy's 'bout to go down," adds Dorian.

"We can alternate watches," Cher suggests, "Two people up at once – one of us and one of them, while the other two sleep."

"Alright then," I say, "Guess we're doing this."

A short silence follows, before Kassandra's characteristically chirpy voice announces that it was time to eat.

* * *

Cassie Gammon

District 5 Female

15 Years Old

I can only stare in awe as the various plates of food are carried into the dining room by the Avoxes.

There's a shiny, gorgeous roast duck; a large bowl of lobster salad; pot roast with potatoes and carrots, with the sauce still boiling; and a plate of the largest salmon fillets I'd ever seen. The food here simply isn't the same as what we eat back home in Five. We were one of the wealthier Districts, sure, but higher-end foods and seasoning were very hard to come by. Plus, Aurelia had told me on the train that the Capitol uses some genetic whatever to make some of their produce and livestock taste even better.

Best of all, though, is the wine. It's so rich and flavorful, a world away from the swill that we'd drink back home on special occasions. It'd be a waste not to take advantage while I'm still alive.

For a while, we all just sit at the table eating and drinking, making incredibly light small-talk or listening to Aurelia go on about some Capitol gossip that nobody cares about.

Eventually, my dining reverie is interrupted by Hunter, one of our Mentors.

"Do you guys plan on working together, or do we _have_ to train you separately?"

 _Gee, I wonder which one he prefers._

"Well, the problem is – I don't think _Amell_ likes me very much," I reply, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of my District partner. For some reason, I also start laughing loudly, causing Aurelia and our Mentors to give me odd looks. But of course, Amell just sits there, staring intently at his plate of food while lightly picking at it with a fork.

It was completely true too. During training that day, he made a point of going only to stations that didn't already have another Tribute there. He also seemed to mutter to himself pretty frequently and looked at everyone else with an eye of suspicion.

"Looks like it's gonna be separate then," says Kennon, our other Mentor.

"Yet again," Hunter comments in a frustrated tone.

"I'd prefer not to ally with _anyone_ , to be honest," I say.

"It might be for the better," Kennon says, "We both won our Games going full-solo, right?"

Hunter doesn't reply and just sits there sullenly.

During the train ride, Kennon had told me about her victory. She must have seen how nervous I was, despite holding it together relatively well during the actually Reaping. She took a seat across the aisle from me and began talking about how you didn't have to be all that "deadly" to win, how she herself had only killed one person in her Games (and in self-defense too). Most of the time, she was hiding in dense vegetation and busy looking for food and water. It made sense – she's a petite, delicate girl with a pale and innocent complexion and flowy dark-brown hair. It was hard to imagine her as a true killer.

If only things could be that simple for me too…

"Well, guess we should talk about what to focus on tomorrow. You guys can stay here. Cassie and I will go to her room."

I grasp onto the chair for a moment, right after getting up. I manage to follow her down the dimly lit hallway into the last door on the left, holding onto the walls of the hallway to keep my balance.

"I kinda feel bad for him, you know," she begins while closing the door, "I've been told that he had some traumatic experience earlier in his life, and he's been all… extra on-edge since then."

"C-Could be helpful in a few days," I remark. Seriously, for a Hunger Games Tribute, there are worse things than being super vigilant and mistrustful of everyone.

"Anyway, I was in the observation area, spying on you during training," says Kennon, "And it seemed like you got a lot of physical work done today. That's good… Try to cover more of the knowledge stuff tomorrow. And make sure to paint yourself as a middle-of-the-pack type – not too weak and not too strong. The Careers will be taking careful note of their competition, as always."

"Sounds good, anything else?"

"Oh, yeah. You might not like alliances, but they still matter. Try to get a sense of who's teaming up with whom."

We then start talking about our families, life back home in Five, and the Games Kennon won. She tells me that she never went back to watch the deaths of the other 22 Tributes, so she'd only seen the death of the Tribute she killed. "It's more than enough, anyway," she says.

After a while, perhaps noticing my drowsiness, and the fact that I'm probably not in the most lucid state of mind, Kennon decides to leave.

Right after she walks about and closes the door behind her, I collapse back onto my bed, with the lights still on, and fall into a heavy sleep.

* * *

Dexter Normande

District 10 Male

12 Years Old

"So, I'll give you a quick overview and then I'll you get to it," says the trainer.

"There are 84 plant species covered at this station – not all the plants you'll see in the Arena, but most of the important ones are included here. Don't worry about knowing all of them, since the whole idea is to improve your survival chances, and knowing each additional plant does just that. If you have questions that aren't in the system, feel free to ask me. I should be somewhere nearby."

With that, I take a seat before the hologram projection and prepare to begin.

It's day two of training. Most of yesterday was spent browsing through the numerous stations in the training gym. I tried my hand at several combat stations to little success. Soon enough, I came to accept the fact that I wouldn't be very effective in a physical confrontation anyway, and so it'd probably be better for me to dedicate the rest of the time here to survival skills.

Right before I get cracking on the program, I see Aneira demolishing dummies at an axe station nearby. She looks like a real contender this year. Surely the Careers have taken note already.

As intimidating as she might be at first glance, Aneira seemed pleasant enough from the limited interactions we've had ( _very_ limited, I might add). Like our Mentors Vara and Brixton, she's exceedingly quiet and prefers to keep to herself. But she was polite for sure, and she would often curl the corner of her lips into an ever-so-slight smile whenever Egeria tried to say something humorous.

I fix my attention on the task before me. The program starts with a 7x12 array of plant images. Selecting one of them would result in more information popping up onto the display – the plant's common name, how toxic it is, where they're typically found, etc. It's a ton of stuff to take in, but all worth knowing. I remember watching several Tributes over the years die because they consumed a plant they shouldn't have. And one year, there was a girl who used a blowgun and darts laced with nightlock toxin to kill eight other Tributes. Her name is Amaryllis Sinclair and she's currently Eleven's only Mentor.

At any point, you can choose to test your knowledge, with 50 random questions involving information from all 84 plant files. Afterwards, you're able to see which questions you got wrong and what the right answer is.

Except for the half-hour lunch break, my day is mostly spent at this one station, going through cycles of test and study. By the time the "100% correct" message appears on the screen, my brain is hardly functioning. I told myself that it was necessary – what if that one piece of information I missed ends up being the difference between life and death in a few days? These weren't just pointless capacitor experiments. Everything is on the line now.

I get up and stretch for a while. There's about 15 minutes left till training is over, so I decide to take a walk around and see what everyone else is up to.

The big guy from Twelve is helping his tiny District partner with throwing knives, which makes me smile. In just a few days, pleasant scenes like this will be in short supply.

On the other side, the siblings from Four are tying knots, chatting and laughing together is if they weren't both in the Games.

As I continue my stroll, I see the girl from Five at the archery station. She seems to be in a much better state now. Earlier this morning, she moved around languidly and kept clutching her forehead. The Careers had noticed that too and had been laughing at her expense.

Aneira is sparring with a trainer inside a ring, both of them wielding practice swords. Behind them, the girl from Nine is scrambling up a robe on one of the elevated obstacle courses.

Further along, I notice the girl from Two wielding two large daggers, ferociously fighting against a couple mechanized dummies. I'd say she's the most intimidating out of all the Careers.

Suddenly, a loud bell sound rings throughout the gym, signaling the end of training for the day. Some people linger around for a few moments longer to finish what they're doing, but most of us start heading straight for the main doors.

I get back to our apartment before Aneira does and see Brixton sitting by himself on one of the couches.

"You know," he says, "In all my years as a Mentor, I don't think I've had a Tribute who spent an entire day of training at _one_ station."

His tone is a mix of amusement and frustration. I'm unsure how to respond so I simply keep my head down and inch forward into the room.

"Here, come sit."

As I do, he pours himself some red wine from an oddly shaped glass bottle.

"Want some?" he asks.

I politely decline. Aunt Lily would be furious at the thought of me drinking.

"The good thing is," Brixton continues, "I seriously doubt anyone will know more about plants than you this year. The bad news: you could have covered a lot more ground today."

"I'll do better tomorrow," I tell him.

"Good. You have to. I know you're pretty much giving up on combat, which is understandable, but you can't survive with just plant knowledge. Make sure you know how to start a fire, camouflage yourself, tie knots, and all that."

I nod as he takes a sip of wine.

"Oh, and since we're choosing this direction, I strongly suggest you just run away from the Bloodbath. If there's a pack right next to you, grab it, but otherwise just go. You'll likely end up emptyhanded, but alive at least. If you're really in need of something, I can try and send it to you. Surviving the Bloodbath will increase the likelihood of donations, and things are relatively cheap early on."

"That's a good plan," I reply, "I'll stick to it for sure."

I should be thankful to have Brixton as my Mentor. One of the first things he told me when we first met was that he had been voted by the Capitol audience as "Mentor of the Year" two years ago, even though his Tribute didn't win.

Aneira walks in, nods to acknowledge us, and heads straight for her room.

"Where's Vara?" I ask Brixton.

"Asleep. Stayed up too late last night," he answers.

Like I said, I really should be thankful.

* * *

 **AN: I think that's my longest chapter yet! I hope you like it.**

 **There's a lot of new characters, I know. I'll try to put up a reference list on my profile soon.**

 **Thanks to everyone who's still reading, and I'll see you next time.**


	18. A Growing Network

**AN: I felt motivated to write more. Hope you enjoy! I also updated my profile with some info related to the story, which should help you keep track of names.**

* * *

Whitney Mendoza

District 9 Female

16 Years Old

The four of us are sitting around the dining table while the breakfast plates are brought in by the Avoxes. Audric and Dax, our only Mentor, sit across from me, while Brielle sits to my right.

Currently, she's staring into her flat little phone and scrolling through pictures, as all Capitolites apparently love to do. Across from her, Audric looks like he barely got a moment's sleep last night.

In fact, we had chatted quite a bit while on the train. He told me he has this sleep disorder, as he calls it, that makes him extremely drowsy or even fall asleep at random times during the day. But at night, he'd lay awake for hours in bed, feeling restless. Whatever sleep he did get was accompanied by hallucinations and temporary paralysis.

Obviously, you can see how this might be problematic in the Games. But there was no need to say anything about that to him, as I'm sure he already knows. If anything, I thought he'd even more appreciative of my offer to ally with him. I ended up having to spend a decent amount of time convincing him before he finally accepted.

"So, what are your plans for training today?" asks Dax.

Dax won his Games over 20 years ago and is currently the only living Victor from Nine.

"Probably try some knot-tying today," I answer while reaching for a slice of toast.

"Hopefully it's more productive than yesterday," mutters Audric.

He had fallen asleep four times during training yesterday, and once more at lunch. At first, the trainers woke him up but later just let him be. I tried my best to help him out, but we were almost always at different stations.

Breakfast goes by uneventfully as I'm too busy eating to do much talking. Tributes are always treated well during their stay in the Capitol, and I plan on taking full advantage.

Before us are pork sausages, golden-brown diced-potatoes, eggs prepared in four different ways, crisp slices of bacon. I also try a glass of the best-tasting milk I've ever had, as well as some freshly squeezed pink grapefruit juice.

Later, as we're riding the elevator down to the gymnasium, I silently remind myself that I'm going to have to take it slow for the next hour or so. We don't want any of that food coming back up.

"Where are you starting?" I ask Audric.

"Maces or swords," he replies curtly.

"You sure you don't want to try out some other stuff? Survival skills and whatnot?"

"Honestly, I might not tie a single knot during my time in there. But I know for sure I'll be using my weapon."

I don't press the point any further. During the first day, Audric went around to a few weapons stations before settling on maces. I doubt he ever even considered fire-building or shelter-making.

The morning flies by peacefully as I divide up my time between plants and knots. Most of the time, I have the whole station to myself.

About an hour before lunchtime, a boy joins me at the knot station. The trainer gets him set up and he begins to work quietly on his own.

A few minutes later, I tie a rolling hitch and a running bowline in relatively quick succession, which seems to catch his eye.

"You're pretty good at this, aren't you," he comments.

"Spend an hour-and-a-half here and you'll be too," I reply.

"I'm Daley."

"Whitney. You're from Three, right?"

"Yep. Me and Veranda. We're actually wondering if you'd like to join our alliance."

His offer takes me by surprise. "Who's in it?"

"The two of us and the boy from Eleven, Hal."

"What made you add _him_ in?" I enquire.

"Felt bad for him, to be honest. But it's fine – he's completely harmless. We're just trying to gather some numbers now, to help us through the first few days."

A bigger group _might_ be good. Easier to blend in and fewer people to look out for during the Bloodbath. I'd be sure to keep an eye on Daley's District partner though.

"And why me?" I ask him.

"You seem really determined, and that matters. Plus, you're apparently a pro at tying knots," he replies with a smile.

"Alright, but only if Audric comes with me."

"The sleeper?"

"It's some disorder. But he's ambitious. And pretty strong too."

"Fine, but don't expect me to save him if he falls asleep at a bad time."

"Of course not," I reply flatly.

"Well, guess it's official then."

Without another word, Daley was on his way. He thinks he's clever, but I don't quite buy his reason for adding me and Audric into his little alliance all of a sudden. There must be something else going on, and I plan on figuring it out.

* * *

Ebony Lanvin

District 8 Female

16 Years Old

Klein shoots an arrow downrange, hitting the target a few rings away from the center.

We're right next to each other at the archery station, practicing in case we find a bow in the Games. In fact, we had spent just about all of the last few days together. After all, within about three weeks, at least one of us will be dead, if not both. I've been trying my best to focus on whatever we're doing at the moment and not dwelling on the painful nature of our reality. I don't want to think about what Klein did, or how we might die, or who will be killing us. But it's easier said than done – avoiding a thought tends to make you think about it.

"You know, you're not too bad at this," I say to Klein.

"Heh. Thanks. Hopefully we can actually get one of these in the Arena."

We planned to face all of it together, which made it a lot easier for Begonia and Alaric, our Mentors. Having no other allies just feels safer.

Neither of us are particularly well suited for the Games, so we try our best to make up for it during the training days. I've been trying to get better with spears and Klein with knives.

Off to my right, there's some commotion by the obstacle course, where a group of people were beginning to disperse.

"Klein, let's go see what this is all about."

After making our way over, I ask one of the Tributes what's going on.

"The girl from Two challenged the girl from Five to a race," he tells me quietly, "But Five won."

Interesting. Careers were known to challenge others as an intimidation tactic, according to Begonia, but losing that challenge is virtually unheard of. Even if another Tribute found themselves gaining the upper hand, they'd know not to paint a target on their back by winning.

I knew Klein and I stood out for sure, given our unique… situation. The Careers haven't bothered us so far, but I know for sure they've made a mental note of us. After all, they're the type to grab all the media attention they can get. They certainly wouldn't appreciate some Tributes from Eight soaking up the spotlight.

* * *

Halcyon "Hal" Eldwin

District 11 Male

15 Years Old

So, there it was – the last day of training. We'd just eaten dinner and are now lazing around the sofas in our apartment. Adalyn, our Escort, had some other "obligation" to attend to, so it's just Amaryllis, Amanda, and myself.

"So, how'd everything go today?" Amaryllis asks.

"Not bad. I just climbed for most of the day… again," answers Amanda.

Amanda never said much to me, but I can tell she _really_ enjoys climbing and scaling things. She seems to be really good at it too.

"And how 'bout you, Hal?"

"The boy from Three, Daley, came up to me today," I tell Amaryllis, "He asked me if I wanted to ally with him and his District partner."

"And?"

"I said sure. Felt like I might need it, you know…"

"Well, District partners tend to stick together, so don't trust them too much. It should help you survive the first few minutes of the Games, at least."

"What did _you_ do at the Bloodbath?" I ask.

"I saw this long duffle bag near my plate, and I managed to grab it first. Then I turned around and ran as fast as I could away from there."

"What was in it?" asks Amanda.

"A blowgun and three darts. That was it. I had to go around looking for something to coat the darts with and eventually found some nightlock berries. Ended up killing eight people with those darts – just had to keep reusing 'em."

I'm speechless and beyond impressed. She wrote herself into Hunger Games history, largely thanks to a weapon she found around her starting plate.

"I guess my point is," Amaryllis continues, "That you should try to pick _something_ up from the starting area before running away. You never know what you might get."

"Yeah, taking off emptyhanded could make you extra vulnerable," I remark.

"Exactly, not to mention that the Careers will probably take over the Cornucopia as soon as they can, which includes everything scattered around it. Going back probably won't be a good idea."

"What if we need something we can't find in our bag?" I ask, thinking of the many ways that things could go wrong.

"If it's crucial, sponsors could cover it, especially earlier on in the Games. I won't lie though – at first, sponsors will spend their money based on betting odds, which aren't looking great for either of you right now. Of course, the odds tend to shift quite a bit after training scores are out."

 _Right, the private sessions are tomorrow._

I have no idea what to show the Gamemakers. I must've visited every training station over the last three days, but I never found anything I was particularly amazing at. I also know I'm not very strong, or fast, or agile… Why would choose to bet on or sponsor me, when they could spend their money on the six Careers, the tough girl from Ten, the big guy from Twelve, or even the couple from Eight? I'm just an underfed outer-District boy with a messy life.

The odds are certainly not in my favor.

* * *

 **AN: You may have noticed that I skipped over the Tribute Parade. I did so because I don't really consider it all that important compared to the rest of the pre-Games process. The format of the event is the same every year, not to mention that for most years, the costumes should be relatively predictable and even repetitive (as implied in THG Ch. 5). Katniss' flaming costume is the reason why the Parade is so significant in the actual book.**

 **The next chapter will cover private sessions/training scores, as well as interview prep. There's a schedule of the pre-Games process on my profile so you get a better idea of the timeline.**

 **And as always, thanks for reading!**


	19. All an Act

**AN: It's part 1 of private session/interview prep/score reveal day!**

* * *

Bliss Emerson

District 1 Male

18 Years Old

A pleasant wind-chime tune fills the room as I open my eyes. The deep orange curtains glow from the morning sun, gently giving light to the room.

"Alarm off."

The music stops. Languidly, I get out from under the covers and take a lengthy shower.

The few days I've spent in the Capitol have made me realize that things are _too_ nice here. It turns people lazy and dependent. Sure, we have it well enough in One, but this is something else – they have countless Avoxes, advanced automated machinery, and the ability to do almost anything through their little phones.

After drying myself, I throw on a fresh set of the training outfit, which was folded neatly and placed on a tan divan by the window. _Last day I have to wear this, at least._

I head down the hall towards the dining room.

"Good morning!" Miracle greets me in a singsong voice. She's tilting her chair back precariously against the wall while sipping on a tall glass of orange juice.

I can count on one hand the number of times I've seen her tired. I have no idea how she does it.

"Nice to see you so full of energy… again," I reply in a dull tone.

"Well yeah. Scoring day is always a big deal. Think you'll get an 11?"

"Heh, probably not. Throwing knives don't tend to impress that much anymore."

"Hey, you chose 'em. Maybe you should be swinging a sword around and I should be throwing knives."

She has a point. Miracle's about ten inches shorter than me and rather petite, a good fit for throwing knives. Most Career guys tend to go for swords, spears, sickles, that kind of thing. But whatever. At age ten, we had to choose a weapon to specialize in for the next eight years. I was pretty accurate with the knives, so I simply went with those. Miracle was decent with them too, but thought they were too "boring" and chose swords instead.

She may not be all that strong, but she's fast, agile, and can wear her opponents out really well.

"Gamemakers tend to be more impressed if you best a trainer during your session. Can't really do that with throwing knives though," says Tiberius as he and Seri walk into the dining room.

"Oh yeah, that'll be fun," Miracle replies, "All that armor makes 'em all slow and useless."

"You two know the drill. Don't show off any skill you're not 100% confident in – it'll only hurt your score," Seri advises.

"You'll be the first Tribute they see today," Tiberius says to Miracle, "How're you feeling?"

"Ready as I'll ever be."

"And how 'bout you, Bliss?"

"Yeah, fine. Ready."

I plan on sticking to my knives, taking on both stationary and moving targets. The Gamemakers are well known for their poor attention span and keeping it simple can definitely help.

* * *

Sycorax "Cora" Adherra

District 2 Female

18 Years Old

This is it. Seven years of training for a five-minute show. For one number. Most Careers score a 9 or 10, with 8s or 11s popping up once every few years. Personally, I couldn't care less what number these Gamemaker clowns feel like giving me. It's the resulting sponsorship matters. At the very beginning, those who score a 10 get significantly more money than those who score a 9.

Bliss walks out from the gymnasium, not even glancing in my direction as he briskly makes his way over to the elevators.

A few moments later, a female voice announces my name over the intercom. I stand up immediately and make my way into the gymnasium.

Being from Two, the Gamemakers still seem relatively focused. Clove told me that by the time the outer Districts roll around, they're usually too busy eating, drinking, and chatting to pay much attention to what's going on below them.

Near the entrance, there are a ridiculous number of weapons lying on several carts. I pick up two medium-sized daggers, the same kind I've been using the last few days. A double-dagger fighting style is uncommon, according to Clove, but it's been my style ever since I started at the Center.

As I walk over to the area with the dummies, I make sure to twirl the daggers a few times for the Gamemakers. _If you want a show, you'll get a show._

I begin to slash and stab my way through the dummies, constantly spinning around to hit as many as possible, as various dummy parts fall onto the ground.

It may be fun for them to watch, sure, but dummies don't move or fight back. It's time to turn things up a bit.

I head over to one of the padded sparring areas where a heavily armored trainer is standing by. I nod to him and he picks up a short, blunted sword made of a dark synthetic material.

Clutching my two daggers, I take up position across from him, ready to spring into action.

 _This should be fun_.

* * *

Amell Maeda

District 5 Male

13 Years Old

Cassie emerges from the gymnasium, looking confident. She flashes me a fleeting smile on her way to the elevators.

 _She's a dangerous one. You'd do best to steer clear of her._

Shortly afterwards, my name is called over the intercom, and I make my way into the gymnasium.

Some of the Gamemakers are watching me intently, while others are lounging around and chatting with each other.

 _Your life doesn't mean anything to any one of them, Amell. You're just a pawn in their game._

I pick up a small knife laid out on a metal cart. Its grip and weight remind me of the pocketknife I used to carry on me at all times, until I lost it a few days ago.

 _They'll manipulate and use you for the Capitol's viewing pleasure._

I begin walking over to the dummies. Hunter told me that I should aim to get a score closer to the middle, since a low score would mark me as easy prey.

 _They could kill you directly, you know. Think about how Mai would feel when she's watching you die on TV._

I step up to a dummy and stare into its blank, gray face.

 _You have a choice, Amell. You can let yourself be a victim, or you can fight. Fight with every fiber of your being. Fight to survive. You're a survivor, Amell – the scar on your arm bears testament to that. Do you remember his face? Of course, you do. How could you ever forget it? You remember the thick blood dripping down his knife, the crash of the lamp as it shatters on the floor, the searing pain in your right arm._

 _He stands before you now, but this time you're holding the knife._

Suddenly, the dummy's face isn't so blank anymore. With a feral scream, I charge and plunge my knife into it, over and over again.

* * *

Cardiff Hriver

District 12 Male

15 Years Old

Laughter, light conversation, and the clinking of silverware and champagne glasses emanate from the Gamemakers' area. Henry had warned me about this.

"By the time Twelve rolls 'round," he said, "Them Gamemakers have already sat through a bunch o' outer District Tributes and won't be the most focused. But don't that bother you – just do what you came to do."

Standing near a railing, with a clipboard in hand, is a man who I assume to be Head Gamemaker Ellsworth. Elise told me that he's not your average Gamemaker – cares a little more about the Tributes, a family man supposedly. Even now, despite the buzz of activity around him, he appears focused on me.

Anyway, I've been planning this out for a while now. I'm building a snare for small animals, something I first saw in an old book of mine back home in Twelve. I'd built it a few times in the woods and managed to catch a few rabbits. The training days also allowed me to practice my building technique.

Five minutes. That's all I should be using to construct the snare.

I find the snares and traps station and begin to collect the materials and tools I need: a hatchet, a few wooden sticks, a few wires of varying diameter, etc. The area is covered in dirt and grass to simulate an actual outdoor environment.

I start by cutting the sticks down to the right size and plant them to support the snare. I then set up the wire loop before securing the end of the wire to one of the planted sticks, making sure the height is where I want it to be. Once the snare is properly suspended between the sticks, I step up to take a look at it.

 _Not bad. And that was probably less than five minutes._

"Very well. You may go," says the Head Gamemaker.

As I'm leaving, a trainer approaches my snare to inspect it.

Earlier, I had learned from Henry that in producing your score, the Gamemakers now also consider factors outside the private session, such as your physical attributes, skills shown during training, special circumstances, etc.

In a few hours, the scores and starting odds will come out. Finding out how I did is one thing, but I'm actually more interested in how my fellow Tributes fare.

* * *

Bean Olas

District 4 Female

14 Years Old

I keep thinking about how the private session could've gone better. I could've hit more targets, had more intensity, acted more like an actual Career. If I get a lower-than-expected score for a Career, the others will know just how much weaker I am. As if they didn't already know…

Yesterday, I watched part of a Capitol talk show on the Games. One analyst was mentioning how my "situation" would drive down my sponsorship money and hurt Poco's winning odds. Antonia had turned the TV off right after that. "You don't need to watch that garbage," she'd said.

"Ahem. Young lady, you should really pay close attention."

The voice belongs to the very same Antonia, who was droning on about interview etiquette when my mind had wandered off. Cyan is sitting right next to her on the sofa, wearing an expressionless face as always.

"Right, sorry," I utter quietly.

"As I was saying, we should talk about your angle now," Antonia continues. "I suggest you make the most out of your situation by marketing yourself as the capable underdog. Your looks and District number alone will earn you a decent number of sponsors. You just need to add some confidence to the package, and I'm sure they'll eat it up."

"But don't they already know I'm not your typical Career?" I ask.

Cyan answers this time. "Sure, they know about the Reaping and they've seen glimpses of you in the training highlights, but this is the first time they'll hear you speak. It's all an act. You just have to sell it."

"And what's Poco supposed to be? Another protective brother?" It's hard to stay focused on yourself when your brother's going into the Arena with you.

"It's happened before, sure, but never to a Career District," Cyan replies.

"It'll be something new in that sense," Antonia chips in, "And Capitol audiences _love_ new things!"

"Oh, and by the way," says Cyan, "You probably already know this, but don't _actually_ talk about anything related to being a Career. Yes, everyone knows they exist, but they're still unofficial."

"I wonder how long that'll last…" I comment.

"Funny that you should mention that," says Antonia. "Rumor has it that Five is thinking of training their own Tributes soon."

Great. Just what the world needs – another Career District.

* * *

Jaguar Wallace

District 6 Male

18 Years Old

Lavinia had just given me the run-down on etiquette and logistics tomorrow, before she had to rush off to some fancy cocktail party. Now Velo and I are talking about my angle.

"The Capitolites love narratives," Velo explains, "A personal story to remember you by. _We_ know the Games are about survival, but that's not what they want to hear. So, let me ask you, Jag, what's your story?"

His question immediately brings me back to my life back home.

"I have three younger brothers at home," I tell him, "My mother raised all of us by herself."

"What happened to your father?"

"There are three fathers between the four of us. None of us know anything about any of 'em."

I'd rather not tell Velo about what my mother does. He'll probably tell Lila, then half the District could know about it in a few weeks' time.

"Anyway, long story short," I continue, "She's been living in fear of her father for her entire life. He's a criminal, one of the biggest morphling kingpins in Six. Half of our Peacekeepers are on his payroll. If I go home as a Victor, I'll use my influence to bring him and his entire empire down."

"Hmm, I like it!" Velo exclaims.

"It's all true, you know."

"Sure, sure. That's good. This should get the Capitol's attention, separate you out from the rest. Might not want to be specific 'bout it all, though – a man like that might have connections in the Capitol."

"How's that a problem for me once the Games start?" I ask. I hadn't thought of that possibility before.

"Well, let's say a sponsor wants a particular Tribute dead," says Velo, "They can make a backroom deal with another Tribute's Mentor, something like, 'If your Tribute kills this other Tribute, I'll add a bunch of money to his account. The Mentor can then send his Tribute a message, telling him to target another Tribute for sponsorship money."

Interesting. This could really shake things up.

"Then I won't mention his name, or who he actually is," I say.

"That's what I recommend."

I'm going to have to tread carefully. If other Tributes are targeting me, I'd be endangering my allies as well.

* * *

 **AN: There's going to be one more chapter covering interview prep and the score reveal. After that, expect two chapters of interviews (we'll hear from all the Tributes).**

 **The fall semester's wrapping up, so I'll be fairly busy over the next few weeks. But don't worry, I'm not going anywhere.**

 **And as always, thanks for reading.**


	20. A Numbers Game

**AN: Fear not, I'm still around. Happy 2019! In this chapter we'll wrap up interview prep and reveal the training scores.**

* * *

Klein Yamamoto

District 8 Male

16 Years Old

It's midafternoon, and the five of us are sitting around the dining table, sipping on some delicious, foamy, coffee-based drink that neither Ebony nor I have ever seen before.

"So, interview angles. This shouldn't be too difficult for you guys," says Begonia.

"I don't want to be a cliché," Ebony mutters.

Eugenia jumps in. "But you're not! There's a lot of energy in the Capitol surrounding the two of you. In fact, I brought a little something for you today."

She reaches into her considerably oversized handbag and takes out what appears to be a rolled-up magazine.

"The Summit. Perhaps the most popular weekly magazine in the Capitol. Look who's on the cover."

Surely enough, it was a shot of Ebony and myself, probably taken moments after we stepped off the train. The cursive caption read, "Not Just Another Tragic Love Story – Details on Page 6."

"It's true, you know," Alaric chips in, "District partners have fallen in love before, but almost all of them did so _after_ the Reaping."

"Plus, the two of you weren't even together at the time of the Reaping," adds Begonia. "That makes you a unique case."

"But does the Capitol know this?" I ask.

"Indeed, they do," replies Eugenia. "Much of the article talks about your lives back home, how the two of you used to date…"

"How do they know all that?" asks Ebony, with some panic in her voice.

"Private interviews with friends and family would be my guess. My family was constantly swarmed by Capitol media back when I was in the Games," Alaric replies.

Eugenia seems to notice the uneasy look on my face.

"There aren't too many details. They need to keep the people interested, and answering all their questions right away doesn't quite do that."

"Good. We can build on this," says Begonia, "Frame it as a getting-back-together story. A redemption kind of thing."

Ebony and I look at each other across the table. From this point on the lines between reality and acting would be blurred. Our lives could depend on how well we sell the story. The time has come to prioritize our survival over our emotions.

Eugenia speaks up again. "Also, I should inform you that this is not the first time the two of you have been featured on the cover of the Summit. This kind of coverage is bound to attract attention from your competitors."

Great. We're being shoved in the spotlight by the Capitol and gaining unwanted attention from the Careers. We're being forced to play our roles, as if it weren't hard enough already for Ebony to act straightforward with me.

* * *

Aneira Lenny

District 10 Female

18 Years Old

Vara and I are in my room, while Brixton and Dexter are talking out in the living room. I'm sure he'd prefer to ally with me, and I hope he doesn't take offense to my decision. But honestly, going at it alone just makes things so much simpler. Back home, I spent most of my time with the livestock or out in the fields. I never complained though – something about it just felt right. Being by myself helps me to focus and think, and having an ally around would only make things more difficult, even if it's someone as agreeable and outwardly harmless as Dexter. There are questions that would always be on your mind: will this person stab me in the back? How long can I trust this person? How will the alliance break up? I have no intention to overcomplicate things and burden myself with these worries.

"Based on what you've told me about your life back home," Vara begins, "I would go for the quiet provider angle. You know, the responsible one that does their work without complaining and helps to support her siblings."

"Would people really remember me for that?" I ask her.

"Maybe not," she replies hesitantly, "But for many Capitolites, your work ethic would certainly strike a positive tone."

"Fair enough. I was never one to stand out in a positive way," I say with a half-smile.

"At the end of the day, all the theatrics can only get you so far. Your strength and maturity will earn you more sponsors than any 5-minute interview ever can. And consider that a good thing."

"And what about Dexter?" I ask. The question seems to catch Vara off guard.

"Well, since the two of aren't technically in an alliance with each other, naturally the sponsor funds will be kept separate. But as you know, Dexter's quite personable and—"

"Look," I interrupt, "There's no need for that. I might prefer to go at it alone, but Dexter's still a really good kid, and he's only 12. If he really needs something, you can use my funds to make sure he gets it. You can do that for me, right?"

"Of course, if that's what you want."

"It is."

"Alright then. I'll let Brixton know."

* * *

Veranda Quinton

District 3 Female

18 Years Old

I stare out at the lights and the towers of glass, taking in the bustle of a city winding down for the evening. The Capitol had turned to be everything I imagined it to be, and more. The opportunities here are virtually endless, and winning the Hunger Games seems a fitting price for admission. Experiencing the Capitol firsthand only strengthened my determination to win. It reminded me of why I had volunteered in the first place. Life in Three was not much of a life at all, and one way or another, I will not be returning to it.

I turn away from the window to see Daley and Linkus sitting in front the TV, chatting away energetically as we all wait for the score reveal.

Utilizing my District partner was always part of the plan, which is why I offered to ally with him. "We don't have to like each other," I told him, "But it would benefit both of us." I also pointed to the fact that in the last few Games, Tributes who've gone solo did not tend to fare well, and that the last four Victors had all started off in alliances.

But of course, he had to muddy the waters by adding more people in. Either he had a genuine desire to expand our alliance, or he's not as stupid as he looks. It would be a lot harder to take advantage of him if there were other allies around. At any rate, we're now stuck with the pair from Nine and the useless boy from Eleven.

I walk over and take a seat on one of the sofas. Tecca joins us a few moments later, followed by our Escort Camilla, who's holding a thin glass of champagne.

Soon enough, Caesar Flickerman appears on screen, this year with forest green hair.

"Welcome, ladies and gentlemen, to our annual Hunger Games Tribute score reveal!" he begins with enthusiasm. "As in previous years, each Tribute is scored by a team of Gamemakers on a scale from one to twelve. This score is mostly based on a Tribute's individual performance during his or her private session. However, owing to a rule change from a few years ago, these scores may also take into account other factors brought to the Gamemakers' attention."

"They just love to keep complicating things, don't they," Tecca comments.

"So, without further ado, let us begin," Caesar continues. "First up, from District One – we have Bliss with a score of 9, and Miracle, with a score of 9."

Nothing unusual. They both seem like pretty average Careers, except for the fact that they're siblings.

"Next, from District Two – Dominic, with a score of 10, and Sycorax, with a score of 9."

Most analysts have him as the favorite, according to Camilla. Still, nothing out of the ordinary – Two tends to produce the deadliest Careers after all.

"From District Three."

Here we go.

"Daley, with a score of 5."

It's more-or-less what I expected. Still, I'll be sure not to underestimate him.

"And Veranda, with a score of 6."

Really? Only a 6? How idiotic can these Gamemakers be? I'm self-trained and beyond determined. I have the looks and the charm. Clearly there's a lot that can't be seen in a 15-minute private session. But it's fine – soon they'll find out how much they've underestimated my abilities.

Plus, at least I scored higher than Daley.

"Not bad. Not bad at all," says Linkus.

"Middle of the pack. Definitely won't be attracting any unwanted attention," Tecca remarks in agreement.

"You both scored higher than my Tributes last year," Camilla comments, "So congratulations."

 _And how hard can that be, stupid blue-haired Capitol bitch._

* * *

Cherrie "Cher" Axlyn

District 7 Female

16 Years Old

"From District Four – Poco, with a score of 9, and Bean, with a score of 7."

"That's low for a Career," I say. Alexei nods in agreement.

"Around the 5th percentile for Careers, and that's a generous estimate," says Dorian. "But she's only 14 after all."

"You'll have to watch out for his brother though," Brooke remarks.

"And there's a chance that being here with his sister actually brought his score down," notes Dorian.

Caesar continues on-screen, "From District Five – Amell, with a score of 4, and Cassie, with a score of 8."

"She's supposed to be a real dark horse, if you believe the Capitol papers," Brooke comments.

 _Great. Yet another Tribute to watch out for._

Our allies are up next.

"From District Six – Jaguar, with a score of 6, and Lynn, also with a score of 6."

"Not bad," I say to Alexei.

"It's good enough," he replies. "Any higher and I'd start to feel uncomfortable having 'em around."

"From District Seven," Caesar continues.

 _Here we go_.

"Alexei, with a score of 8…"

The sound of collective amazement breaks out in the living room as Alexei is congratulated by our Mentors, Kassandra, and myself.

"…and Cherrie, with a score of 5."

"That's not bad at all," says Dorian.

"You're right in the middle," Brooke tells me. "Not to mention that I got the exact same score last year."

I force a smile for her sake, but I'm caught up on what all this means for our alliance.

Alexei has the highest score – maybe he's more dangerous than I thought. And I have the lowest score. I'm the weakest of the group.

I try not to let it bother me too much, but everyone knows about how training scores tend to predict sponsorship money in the early days. If they donate to District Seven because of Alexei, we could both benefit from it. But if they donate specifically to him, I won't see any of it myself.

Time will tell, I suppose.

* * *

Audric Bract

District 9 Male

15 Years Old

"From District Eight – Klein, with a score of 6, and Ebony, with a score of 5."

Nothing noteworthy, so the room stays quiet.

"From District Nine – Audric, with a score of 4…"

 _Wait, seriously?_

"…and Whitney, with a score of 6."

There's a moment of awkward silence, which is eventually broken by Dax.

"I think it was your _condition_ …" he says.

"Thanks to the rule change, nobody really knows what goes into these scores anymore," adds Brielle.

"This ain't good for our alliance," I say, looking towards Whitney.

"Maybe not," she replies, "But I don't trust them much anyway. We should leave early."

"This could work out in your favor too," Dax says. "The others might underestimate your abilities."

I nod slowly as I get up from the sofa. By this time Caesar has finished reading the rest of the scores, which are all more-or-less what we expected.

I step over to the window and gaze out at the Capitol's night skyline, recalling an earlier conversation I had with Brielle yesterday.

She approached me in the hallway right outside our apartment. "Dax might not like to tell you this, seeing as he's the lone Mentor, but there's something you should know."

"I'm listening."

"Your… condition. District Nine doesn't have the resources to treat it but—"

"Let me guess, you fancy Capitolites do?"

"Well, yes. You see, my husband's a neurologist, and we were talking about your situation the other day. Apparently, the Capitol recently approved a drug that, taken once a day, would basically rid you of all the symptoms. And the thing is, as a Victor, you'd easily have access to it for the rest of your life. You can live a normal life like anyone else, Audric. You just have to be the one who walks out of there alive."

* * *

Amanda Arc

District 11 Female

18 Years Old

"From District Ten – Dexter, with a score of 3, and Aneira, with a score of 8."

 _What a huge difference. I wonder if they're allied together._

"From District Eleven – Halcyon, with a score of 2…"

I sneak a glance over at Hal, who has a rather grim look on his face, with tired eyes that gaze down at the pristine white carpet of the living room.

"And Amanda, with a score of 3."

Still no reaction from the room. After all, it's only the two of us and Amaryllis here. As usual, Adalyn was off somewhere else.

"And last but not least, from District 12," Caesar announces, "Cardiff, with a score of 7, and Emberly, with a score of 2."

 _There we go. At least I'm not by myself in 2-land._

"That, ladies and gentlemen, concludes our score reveal this year. Stay tuned for further commentary and analysis, and I look forward to seeing you tomorrow for our interviews!"

With that, the TV cuts to an over-the-top ad for some Capitol product that I'll never be able to buy.

"Alright, let's make sure we get plenty of rest tonight. Big day tomorrow," says Amaryllis in a clearly discouraged tone.

I try to picture what it's like to be her. She survived the Hunger Games just to watch other kids from her District die in them, year after year, with no real chance of ever winning. She's mentoring us all by herself, with an apathetic Escort that spends twice as much time elsewhere than here.

I'd feel bad for her, but at least she gets to live.

* * *

 **AN: Thoughts? I'm in my last semester of undergrad now and applying for med school this summer, so I'll be very busy. Again, I cannot say when the next update will be, but rest assured that there will be one. I'll be splitting the interviews into two chapters. After that, we'll hear more from our friends President Greenleaf and Head Gamemaker Ellsworth, plus his right-hand-man Remus Bridgewater.**

 **Exactly one year ago, I decided to start my own SYOT after reading through a bunch of them here. Now, we're 20 chapters in, with more than 40,000 words and over 100 reviews. I'm well aware of how many SYOTs get abandoned soon after they launch, so as a first-time writer on this site, I am immensely grateful for your support. Thank you so much for submitting, reading, and reviewing.**


	21. The Interviews

**AN: Here's highlights from the first ten interviews.**

* * *

Miracle Emerson

District 1 Female

18 Years Old

"Without further ado, let's meet our first Tribute: from District One – Miracle!"

The stage assistant gives me a nod. I put on a rehearsed smile and step out from behind the curtain, being mindful not to trip on the lengthy dress I'm wearing.

 _Please don't let this be a drag._

Once I'm seated and the applause dies down, Caesar begins, "So, Miracle, let me get something out of the way first – I can't help but notice that your hair is a lot shorter than at your Reaping. Was it your choice?"

"Well," I reply, "Seri, my Mentor, told me to get it cut. Said it might get in the way once the Games start."

"Seems like a good idea," remarks Caesar.

"I wasn't too thrilled about it, but you're right. She knows best."

"Your Mentor, Serenity, won her Games just a few years ago, didn't she?"

"Yeah, the 83rd," I answer.

"Was it that long ago? Oh my, time really flies, doesn't it?" Caesar responds in an overdramatic fashion. "Do you think you have what it takes to join her as a Victor?"

"I do, Caesar. I'm _very_ competitive, and I've got lots of energy. You can ask anyone back home." _Not that I want to talk much about life back home._

"Oh, I have no doubt. Is there anyone from home you'd like to give a shout-out to?"

"Isabel," I blurt out. "We're—uh, she's my best friend. We've known each other since we were six. And my mother and Maxon, my little brother, as well. I know they'll be cheering me on every step of the way."

As the interview wraps up, I realize that the thought of them has made me somewhat sad. But thankfully, Caesar doesn't ask me about Bliss.

* * *

Bliss Emerson

District 1 Male

18 Years Old

"You're here with your sister, is that correct?"

"Yes."

"If you don't mind, tell us how that happened."

"Mira and I kinda grew apart over the years, and we weren't talking to each other much in recent years. We both wanted to volunteer, and we didn't discuss it beforehand. That's the simple version."

Seri and Tiberius told us over and over that we couldn't make any explicit mention of formal training or the selection process back home. Stupid rule, if you ask me. The story doesn't even make much sense if you take out the volunteer trials.

"I see," replies Caesar. "Based on what we've seen, it appears that you two have quite different preferences in terms of weapons. You prefer throwing knives, yes?"

"Right. They've been my best weapon for as long as I can remember. You're able to hit targets farther away than if you have, say, a sword or an axe. That could save your life in the Games."

"Good point," says Caesar, nodding. "Alright, Bliss, I wish you the best of luck."

The audience applauds and we shake hands. _Miracle sounded a lot more confident compared to me_ , I think to myself as I'm heading backstage. Oh well, at least it's over.

* * *

Sycorax "Cora" Adherra

District 2 Female

18 Years Old

"In training, we saw your somewhat… unique choice of weapons. Tell us a bit more about that," says Caesar.

"If you can use one dagger, why not two?" I reply curtly.

"Indeed, why not! I'm sure we'll all enjoy seeing that in the Arena, right?" he asks the audience, who respond positively.

"So, what do you think of your competition this year?"

"Not terrible."

"Do you feel like you have the best odds of winning?"

"I'd like to think so."

"And why's that?"

 _This really is a chore. But I'll have to put in a little more effort, at least so Clove doesn't flip out later._

"Well, Caesar," I begin as I straighten my back, "As we all know, winning the Games often involves doing some very… _unpleasant_ things in the Arena. I feel that some other Tributes might think they have what it takes, but they'll realize soon enough that the real world isn't as pretty as their imagination. You won't have to worry about that with me, as you'll see very soon – I'll do _whatever_ it takes, and I'll have fun doing it."

* * *

Dominic "Dom" Axton

District 2 Male

18 Years Old

"So, Dominic, what made you volunteer for these Games?"

"It's my competitive nature, I'd say. My friends will tell you I'm over-competitive. I always had to be the best at whatever I was doing. And that's what these Games are at the end of the day right? A competition."

"One with considerably high stakes, wouldn't you agree?"

"For sure, but you know what they say – no risk, no reward. Winning these Games would not only be an incredible experience for me, but it'd be a great honor for my District as well."

"Ah, yes. Tell us a bit about life back home."

"District Two is very… gray. We're good at what we do, and life tends to be pretty predictable. I wouldn't want to live anywhere else though."

"Do you have a special someone back home?"

"I do," I answer, which provokes a sound of disappointment from a few female members of the audience.

"And what's her name?"

"Stasia. She's amazing, and I think she might even volunteer in the future."

"If she does, I'm sure she'll be as popular as you are here. Speaking of which, are you aware that you're currently number one in sponsorship money?"

"Yes, Harper told me about that last night. I'm very grateful for everyone's support."

"Hardly surprising, seeing as how you've earned the highest training score," Caesar remarks.

"I'm glad the Gamemakers were impressed. That's what I was going for," I reply with a smile.

Caesar wraps up the interview in his typical fashion and the audience roars in applause as I make my way off the stage.

 _And now for the actual Games…_

* * *

Veranda Quinton

District 3 Female

18 Years Old

"Now, Veranda, you're a volunteer from District Three. As you probably know, volunteering is quite uncommon in your District, and so a lot of are dying to know why you did so."

"I've always had a fascination with the Capitol, Caesar. We get a glimpse of it on TV every year during Hunger Games season, but most of it is left to the imagination."

"Interesting… do go on," Caesar comments.

"I knew the only way to make it more than just a distant dream – to experience the Capitol lifestyle personally – was to volunteer for the Games."

"And now that you're here," says Caesar, "What do you think of the Capitol?"

"It's everything I imagined, and more," I answer, making sure to flash a wide smile toward the audience.

 _Solid execution, Veranda. Just watch the sponsor money pour in now._

The interview continues with pretty typical questions, most of which I'd already rehearsed answers for. Caesar and I share a few laughs here and there, and the audience seems to enjoy all of it.

"It's been a pleasure chatting with you, Veranda, but I'm afraid our time is almost up. Best of luck to you in these Hunger Games."

"Thank you, Caesar. And don't worry – I have a feeling we'll meet again soon."

I exit the stage to the sound of deafening applause and cheers. I even see a few Capitolites in the audience holding up signs bearing my name.

They love me. And why shouldn't they?

* * *

Daley Keen

District 3 Male

15 Years Old

"How's your time been in the Capitol so far, Daley?"

"You guys have some great food, that's for sure," I reply, prompting some laughter from the audience. "Things have been going pretty well, I'd say. Antonia, our Escort, has been wonderful to us."

An unsympathetic bitch she is. But saying that won't do me any favors.

"Make any new friends?" Caesar asks half-jokingly.

"I think 'temporary allies' is the better term here," I say with a smile.

 _Very_ temporary. I don't really trust any of them, except maybe the harmless kid from Eleven.

"And how's life back home?"

"I've been on my own for awhile now… just trying to survive, you know? Used to live with my girlfriend, but things—uh, things didn't work out."

"I'm sorry to hear that. Do you think you two might want to get back together if you win these Hunger Games?"

 _Now there's a thought_. Money would obviously no longer be an issue, but I'm still not sure if Chelsea would want to see me again. Thinking of her just reminds me of all the pain we've gone through, and I have no doubt she feels the same way.

* * *

Bean Olas

District 4 Female

14 Years Old

"My parents are… no longer with us," I answer. "I live with my brother now."

"And it would seem that he's here with you."

"Yes."

The less we talked about Poco, the better. Same goes for back home. No matter what happens, it's obvious that things will never be the same again. Even if I make it out of there, Poco would be dead – the one constant in my life, strong but caring – gone. And I'd know that he did it for me. It would haunt me for as I live.

After an awkward silence, Caesar continues, "Anyone from back home that you especially miss?"

"My friend Coral. We've known each other for years. And we go surfing together all the time," I reply, smiling at the memories of the ocean, the feeling of wind in my hair and warm sand between my toes.

"Ah, surfing! Being able to swim – that can really come in handy in the Arena. You never know when there might be water."

Is he dropping a hint about the Arena? Surely that's not allowed. But he does make a good point – most other Districts are nowhere near the sea, so swimming tends to be a rare skill among Tributes. Over the years, I've watched countless Tributes swim away from danger, whether it be other Tributes or mutts. If only I could swim away from all this, back to my predictable but peaceful life in Four…

* * *

Poco Olas

District 4 Male

17 Years Old

"Let's wrap up with a question that's surely on everyone's mind right now: why? Why did you volunteer for your sister?"

"For years it's just been the two of us. I've always taken care of her – why should anything change now?"

"You're not afraid that neither of you will… win?" Caesar asks cautiously. Earlier Tyler had mentioned to me that Caesar avoids terms like "living" or "dying." It's easy to see why – the more you shelter these people from the true nature of their "game," the better for the Capitol.

"Sure, I am," I reply. "Most people are afraid of dying, at the end of the day. But there are things in life that are worth the price. Family's one of them."

"And I commend you for your bravery. I think it is safe to say that you and your sister are both _very_ popular in the Capitol. I wish you the best of luck."

The cheers and applause had begun before Caesar finished speaking. Antonia had been telling the same thing all this time – that the two of us have a lot of fans among the Capitolites. "Duty and sacrifice – you're an ideal Tribute," she'd said.

It's like rooting for a hero in a fairytale to them. But for us, there will be no happy ending.

* * *

Cassie Gammon

District 5 Female

15 Years Old

"My family – they're all very book-smart. Academic types, you know? Mom's a surgeon, step-dad's an engineer. Fiona, my older sister, is studying law right now, and my brother Greg is big into holograms, or whatever it's called."

"And you don't think you really fit in," comments Caesar.

"That's it. I could never focus that much on school – studying, doing homework… I'm a three-sport athlete though, and I won't ever get tired of it."

"Hey, everyone's different. We're all about individuality here in the Capitol, as you can probably tell by now," says Caesar with a smile. "Speaking of which, how's your time in the city been so far?"

"Good…" I begin, "Everything is very… _clean_."

 _And I'm just thrilled to be sent into your little deathmatch._

"What's the best thing you've tasted here so far?"

"The red wine," I blurt out, eliciting some laughter from the audience.

"Ah yes. I enjoy it myself as well. But not too much though," replies Caesar facetiously.

"You know, it seems like you're a fairly popular tribute, if you look at the numbers," he continues, "I'm sure your impressive training score played a role in that."

"Javelin's one of my main events, and I used to do fencing as well, so I guess that translated nicely."

"That certainly seems to be the case. There are so many more things we'd like to ask you about, but unfortunately our time is up. Best of luck to you, Cassie!"

* * *

Amell Maeda

District 5 Male

13 Years Old

 _This is the part where you have to act as normal as you can. The little shits sitting down there couldn't care any less about you, but you have to care about them. You need to leave a good impression. Got it?_

"Tell us about life back home."

"I—I live with my older sister, Mai. Just us two. My parents were murdered."

"That's terrible… I'm so sorry to hear that."

"It was a few years ago. Mai was only 17 back then, and she's been taking care of me ever since. Things aren't easy for us these days, but we do our best."

"I'm sure she's watching this interview right now. What would you say to her?"

"Thanks for being an amazing sister, for being so patient with me," I reply, looking directly at one of the cameras near the front of the stage.

I continue. "But to everyone else, I also have something to say."

 _Wait a minute. Stop. You're going to mess this whole—"_

"Shut up," I snarl. Caesar is visibly confused. For once, it seems like he doesn't know what to say.

While he remains speechless, I stand up from my seat, trying to summon all the courage I ever had in me.

"You all think I'm just some scrawny little kid that won't last a minute in the arena. But here's what you don't know: when I saw the man who just killed my parents, I charged at him and fought as hard as I could. His knife cut deep into my right arm, but he's dead now and I'm here. So if you think I won't give everything I have in a life-or-death situation, you're wrong!"

How's that for an impression?

* * *

 **AN: Another wicked long wait, I know. Sorry about that. Part of the reason is because writing so many interview POVs was very difficult for me. The interview format is repetitive, but I tried my best to make the content non-repetitive. I'm generally not too happy with the way this chapter turned out, but I'd appreciate your thoughts on it as well.**

 **Having said all that, the next chapter will feature other Tributes as they go through their last night before the Games (after the interviews). I'm sure you'd rather not read another 14 interviews anyway.**


	22. Calm Before the Storm

**AN: Here it is, the last chapter before the Bloodbath!**

* * *

Lynn Stackker

District 6 Female

16 Years Old

Sitting at a bay window, I silently watch the elevated trains of the Capitol carry people from the Training Center back to their respective residences. Interview night was over, and now it was time for them to go home and rest before the Games begin tomorrow morning.

Moments earlier, Lavinia had made a dramatic announcement to the rest of us – something about Scarlett, District One's escort, retiring. Clearly _someone_ wants to take over for her.

That's actually a good thing for me and Jag. According to Lila, most district promotions are given to escorts whose tributes win the Games that year.

I turn away from the window and see Jag lying on the couch, tossing a grapevine ball up in the air and catching it.

"We should get going," I suggest. "It's almost nine."

"Alright then," Jag replies, placing the ball back into a green ceramic bowl with the others.

We head out into the hallway and call the elevator to take us up one story. Normally, I'd take the stairs, but we're both exhausted from the interviews.

You'd think that we would have gone over the Cornucopia strategy by now, but no. Cher suggested that we do so the night before the Games so it's fresh on everyone's mind. As if anything else could possibly be more important right now.

* * *

Cherrie "Cher" Axlyn

District 7 Female

16 Years Old

A knock on the door signals the arrival of our friends from Six. That's just an expression, of course – I obviously don't consider them actual friends.

Alexei gets up to let Lynn and Jag into the apartment.

"Have a seat," I offer. "We'll want to get plenty of sleep tonight, so let's make this fast."

"Let's start with what happens at the end of the countdown," says Alexei.

"We should each grab one pack and go," I respond. "Between the four of us there should be a good variety of food and supplies."

"And where do we meet up afterwards?" Lynn asks.

"The tributes usually start in a circular formation, so we can't rely on any cardinal directions," says Alexei.

"We'll have to use someone's starting position as a guide. Let's just say Alexei's," I suggest.

Lynn agrees. "OK, so we'll look for where Alexei is during the countdown and meet up in that direction."

"But what if one of you can't see me? It's possible, especially if they use a full-circle starting formation," Alexei says.

"You mean if your view is blocked by the Cornucopia," Jag responds.

"The blind-spot in that case can't be that big. You'll still know which general direction to go in," I assure them.

"I guess that's true…" says Lynn quietly.

"The whole thing can be unpredictable," I reply. "We're assuming a standard setup for the Bloodbath, but you never know. Remember that one year when there were _two_ Cornucopias?"

"Chances are it'll work out," Alexei says. "The Careers usually hang around the Cornucopia for a bit, so meeting up shouldn't be too difficult."

"Also," adds Jag, "Career groups in the past have been known to avoid fighting other large groups early on in the Games."

"They prefer killing off the weaker and younger ones first. Cowards…" mutters Alexei.

Everyone knows the Careers are weaker this year than usual. We're a strong group. We can take 'em if need be.

* * *

Jaguar Wallace

District 6 Male

18 Years Old

After the meeting, we head right back down to our apartment.

"I think it's time for a _really_ long bath," says Lynn as soon as we walk through the door. She strides down the hallway into her room.

As for me though, I need to take care of something before calling it a night.

You see, I couldn't explicitly mention my grandfather during the interviews. Not only would it attract unnecessary attention toward me and my allies, but as Velo had explained earlier, my grandfather's connections in the Capitol could use sponsor money to get other tributes to target me. Again, that would also put my allies in even more danger. When is the right time then? Moments after the countdown ends, I could be dead. My mother and brothers would lose their last hope at getting this story out.

I gently knock on the door.

"Who is it?" replies a singsong voice from inside.

"It's Jag. I—uh, I was wondering if you had a minute to talk about something."

Lavinia opens the door and motions for me to enter. I can immediately see that her bed is covered in a mess of multicolored clothing.

"Don't mind the mess, just trying to figure out what to wear tomorrow. Anyway, what is it you wanted to talked about?"

"I know you want the District One job. And, to be honest, who wouldn't?"

I can tell that this catches her off-guard based on her lack of response.

"I'm sure you're not the only one who has their eyes on that position. But I have some information that could help you stand out."

"Alright then. I'm listening," she says as she takes a seat on the bed.

"My grandfather runs a morphling empire in Six – one of the largest, in fact. I know where his base of operations is. I'll do everything I can to win the Games and take care of this myself, but if I die in the arena, I'm hoping you can report this directly to President Greenleaf. Morphling's been killing productivity in Six these days more than ever. I work in a factory – I've seen it firsthand. She might consider this when it comes time to pick the next escort from One."

"I thought I overheard you and Velo talking about something like this the other day… I don't see any reason why not," Lavinia replies.

"I can write down the details now," I say, motioning towards the mahogany desk in the corner of the room.

"Yes, please do."

* * *

Klein Yamamoto

District 8 Male

16 Years Old

The glass towers of the city become less and less illuminated as the night goes on, a reminder that the night cannot go on forever, that the sun will eventually peek its head over the horizon. In a few hours, the citizens of the Capitol will rise from their beds to watch the 24 of us kill each other. Several of us will be dead minutes after the countdown ends.

I run my hand through Ebony's hair as we sit alone on the Training Center's roof, simply enjoying each other's company, with the only sound coming from the plants as they rustle in the breeze. There's nothing to be said after all. We both know the time we have left together is limited. One of us will certainly be dead by the end of this ordeal, and more than likely both of us.

Love really does make you do stupid things, doesn't it? How can I explain my decision to a rational individual? Perhaps you could say it was the heat of the moment, that I wasn't thinking clearly. But maybe I wasn't _supposed to_ be thinking clearly. Isn't there someone in all of our lives for whom we'd do something irrational?

Maybe you're not convinced by what I'm saying, and you have every right not to be, but consider this: life is not nearly precious enough that nothing is worth the sacrifice. What was the alternative? To continue my days in Eight and watch her die on TV thousands of miles away? Instead we've come to terms with the way things are and were able to spend these last few days together, where every moment is a lifetime. There is nothing rational about any of it, but there is nothing regrettable either.

"Klein?"

"What is it?" I respond, knowing exactly what she will say – something that had been evident since quite some time ago, a statement that has already received a silent affirmation.

"I love you."

* * *

Audric Bract

District 9 Male

15 Years Old

I jolt awake, finding myself lying on my bed, on top of the sheets with all the lights on. I glance over at the clock – 9:30. _Great_. Who knows when I'll be able to fall asleep next…

Right beside me is a pamphlet that Brielle gave to me earlier today. "Modadrityl" is printed in a large rectangular font across the top. Right below was a subtitle: "Chemically modified modafinil approved for treatment of narcolepsy and cataplexy."

I flip through the pamphlet, which is full of images and graphs that show how drug works in the body and its effectiveness throughout testing. Just as Brielle said, it's a small pill that lasts for a whole day.

"Increased daytime alertness observed… Improved cognitive function in sleep-deprived patients… Long-term use appears to be without major drawbacks…"

Even just a few days ago, the idea of living a normal life seemed to be out of reach. Narcolepsy is a truly miserable thing – constant collapsing without warning, falling asleep whenever anything emotional is going on, struggling through spells of shitty sleep every night… It can all be over. A life that I only dream about can become a reality.

And there's only 23 people standing in the way.

* * *

Aneira Lenny

District 10 Female

18 Years Old

It's around 10:30 when Vara and Brixton decide to call it a night. Egeria had gone to sleep about an hour ago. Guess these Capitol types need their beauty sleep.

"Don't stay up too late," Vara advises before disappearing down the hallway to her room.

"Remember, the hovercraft arrives at 7:30. The alarms in your room have already been set," says Brixton before doing the same.

For a while, we'd been sitting in front of the TV watching these analysts speculate about the arena tomorrow. Seeing no point in continuing this, I prepare to head back to my room for the night as well.

"Aneira?" says Dexter as I'm about to get up. He'd been sitting on the couch next to mine, silently watching the TV until now. He's had a stern and anxious look on his face all night.

"Yeah?"

"Are you scared? You know, about tomorrow?"

"To be honest, I think everyone is. Some people just hide it better," I tell him.

"I guess you're one of those people then."

"Maybe you're right," I say, managing to crack a half-smile, "It's something I've always been good at."

"You can probably tell that I'm not. Kids like me… they don't last very long."

"Well, a 12-year-old has won the whole thing before."

It's true. Lila Kanton, currently one of Six's mentors, won her Games when she was 12. Hid throughout the entire thing and ran when she needed to, but she did it well. There aren't too many victors with no kills, but she's one of them.

"I bet she felt the same way you do right now," I continue, "But you never know."

Dexter doesn't say anything more, so I quickly tell him good night and head for my room. He's a good kid, and I truly wish him the best of luck tomorrow.

* * *

Domitian Ellsworth

Head Gamemaker

The sun is at its peak in the sky, shining over the vast greenery of the mansion's garden. It was usual that President Greenleaf asked for me to meet her here for the briefing, but whatever she says goes. Two cups of coffee sit on the circular little table in front of me. They were brewed using a new brand of modified coffee beans from District Eleven, engineered to maximize taste.

Soon enough, the President appears through the curated flora, wearing a pine green pencil dress and a silver necklace.

"Sorry for the wait, Dom – unexpected construction."

"Not a problem. Coffee, as requested," I reply, gesturing to the cup in front of her.

"Thank you."

She takes a quick sip. "Good as ever. Took years of research to get this right," she comments.

"No doubt."

"Anyway, I'm sure you're busy with final preparations, so we can make this quick. What have you got for me?"

"The arena's ready to go, ahead of schedule. We're just making final checks," I tell her. "The tributes will leave at 7:30 and arrive at 9:15. All hovercrafts are ready to go."

"Very well."

"Also, the boy from Nine – the one with the narcolepsy."

"Yes, what about him?"

"That might be an issue right at the beginning, when they're on the plates."

"You're thinking he might fall asleep and set off the mines."

"Right. Seems a bit unfair to allow that to happen."

"The Hunger Games aren't meant to be fair. We have trained 18-year-olds running around killing 12-year-olds."

"I understand, but I'd argue that these are extenuating circumstances. He's got a solid following in the Capitol… it'd be in our interest to at least give him a chance."

She pondered for a moment before responding, "Alright then. What do you plan on doing about it?"

"A short-acting stimulant. We can give it to him right before he gets in the tube."

"Fine," she replies. "But let's not make this a habit."

I knew she'd be fine with it once I mentioned his popularity. People like an underdog, and his condition sets him up perfectly for that. Ratings come first for President Greenleaf, always.

"There's something you should know, Dom," she says somewhat abruptly. "The reaping in Four was rigged. The girl was reaped under the assumption that her brother would volunteer for her, and the selected volunteer was told to stay home."

"Madame President, please know that I had absolutely no—"

"Don't worry. I know it was Remus – he was the one who told me after all."

 _That kid_. I can't believe he took the time to set up something like this behind my back.

"I will make sure that nothing like this ever happens again."

"Actually," she begins, "It's not such a terrible after all, I don't think. You know I don't like to mess with things too much during the _actual_ Games, but this is before that. The pair from Four have attracted a considerable amount of interest here."

Of course, the ratings.

"You've taught him well, Dom," she continues. "Could be a good choice to take over for you in the future."

* * *

 **AN: Up next is the Bloodbath! Hope you enjoyed this chapter. I try to not only balance out the POVs, but make sure that each character has a comparable amount of "screen time," even when it isn't explicitly from their POV. And don't worry, there's still a few POVs coming before the actual Bloodbath.**

 **Side note: I've changed my capitalization practices somewhat (applies to words like tribute, escort, arena, etc.). I'd been incorrectly capitalizing them before and I realized it could be somewhat distracting. Just FYI.**

 **Thanks for reading as always, and please review!**


	23. The Bloodbath

**AN: And finally – the Bloodbath!**

* * *

Whitney Mendoza

District 9 Female

16 Years Old

I'm wide awake already when the alarm goes off, its gentle melody filling the room. I continue to lie there, staring up at the ceiling as the tune gradually grows louder. After about a minute, I tell it to stop, deciding that staying any longer in bed wouldn't help anything. A disturbing thought filled my head: this was most likely the last time I'd sleep in an actual bed.

After a quick shower, I head down the hall to see Audric chatting away with Dax at the dining table, looking unusually energetic.

"Good morning!" Brielle greets me enthusiastically.

"How do you feel?" asks Dax.

"Never been better," I mutter in response.

"Don't worry," says Audric, "You can sleep on the hovercrafts. I know I probably will."

I had to smile at that. It must be a relatively long ride for us to be getting up this early. No way they'd start the Games before ten – Capitolites need their beauty sleep after all.

"As you might know already, breakfast will be served on the hovercraft," Brielle tells us, "The quality should be comparable to what you've eaten here."

 _Yeah, I don't think anyone's too worried about how good the food will be._

Dax checks his watch. "It's 7:24. Let's start making our way up to the roof."

* * *

Amanda Arc

District 11 Female

18 Years Old

There's a variety of dishes on the breakfast table in front of me, but I find myself with little appetite. I take a few small bites of mostly fruit before giving up and sitting down by the window. Peering out, I see that we're far above the clouds, which seem to cover everything below. Are we over land or water? Where are we going that it would take even the Capitol's hovercrafts so long?

I eventually drift off back to sleep, only to be woken up by a Peacekeeper announcing our arrival. He opens a hatch and helps me onto a ladder that descends down a metal tube.

At the bottom is a small room with nothing but a table and a large glass cylinder that reaches from floor to ceiling. On the table is a neatly folded set of clothes, largely black in appearance, with minor gold accents here and there.

A recorded message greets me. "Hello, tribute. Please change into the clothes found on the table in front of you. All articles must be worn. The Games will begin in exactly 15 minutes. Thank you."

The arena clothes are somewhat padded and rather form-fitting. It takes me only about a minute to change into them.

 _And now we wait._

Before long, another recorded message plays. "Hello, tribute. The Games will begin in exactly two minutes. Please step into the glass cylinder at this time."

Part of the glass slides over to create an opening. I walk over and enter it, feeling my heartbeat accelerate. The glass slides shut after I'm inside.

The message repeats at one minute and then again at 30 seconds. I wonder what would happen if a tribute refused to step into the cylinder…

Soon, the platform begins to ascend to the surface. When we emerge, the first thing I notice is the greenery – more forest than jungle. Currently, we're in a grassy field surrounded by hills on all sides.

So, this is it. I take a deep breath and do my best to shake off that feeling in my chest.

I'm a wolf. And wolves fear nothing.

* * *

Cardiff Hriver

District 12 Male

15 Years Old

So, this is the arena. I'd been expecting something a little more… exotic, given the travel time. If the Capitol is where I think it is based on my maps, we could've reached the Pacific coast in that amount of time. There must be a reason why we flew so far for some wooded hills.

But that's not important. _Focus, Cardiff. You've got less than a minute left before this thing starts._

We're positioned in a semicircle around the Cornucopia, a copper-colored pyramid structure with openings at each of its four sides. Inside I can see backpacks, boxes of supplies, foodstuffs, and of course, the metallic shine of weaponry.

Emberly is about eight tributes to my right, looking unmistakably fearful. I had told her to just run directly away from the Cornucopia, and that I'd try to grab a pack or two and find her later.

"30, 29, 28…"

Next to me on my left is the girl from Eight, glancing frantically between the Cornucopia and someone else on the other side of the semicircle. The girl from Eleven stands to my right, completely still. _Good, neither of them should be a threat for now._

"20, 19, 18…"

One of the larger packs lies on the ground not too far from where I am, but I'm betting the girl from Two, who's a few spots to my left, is eyeing it as well. I've never been very fast, so I'll probably just save the effort and grab another one further away.

"10, 9, 8…"

Alright, planning time is over. I need to get ready to move.

"3, 2, 1."

The cannon fires and almost everyone springs off their plates immediately. As I predicted, the girl from Two reaches that pack before I do and scoops it up. I run right past her towards the Cornucopia, scanning around for another pack I can pick up.

There's some shoving closer to the Cornucopia and a few tributes fall to the ground. I grab a smaller backpack and swing it onto my shoulder. As I turn to leave, I catch a glimpse of the boy from One throwing a knife, right before someone collapses not too far from me. It's the girl from Eleven, who'd been standing next to me only a few seconds ago.

I'm just past the plates now when a sudden, sharp jab of pain in my side sends me to the ground. I realize that a spear, which now rests in the grass, has cut me deep. Whoever threw it doesn't seem to be pursuing me now. I somehow manage to climb back to my feet and continue stumbling towards the tree line, where I spot Emberly, looking back anxiously.

Around 50 feet from the forest, I fall once more, suddenly drained of all energy. I look down and see that blood has soaked through my clothing and is slowing dripping onto the grass below. Emberly rushes out towards me.

"Here, take this," I tell her, "I don't think I can go much further."

"No! We can get medicine for you. Please, I want you to come with me."

"I'll only slow you down. You need to run far away from here. Try your best to hide."

Tears began to streak down from her eyes. Seeing this almost felt worse than the gash in my side.

She takes the backpack and runs off towards the trees, turning to look at me one last time before disappearing into the forest. My vision starts to darken at the edges, and I know this is the end for me.

 _You got this, little Emberly. I believe in you._

* * *

Miracle Emerson

District 1 Female

18 Years Old

"Secure the Cornucopia!" shouts Dom as we approach it.

He hurls a spear towards the pair from Eight, catching the boy square in the back. He immediately grabs another and, for whatever reason, goes for one of the farthest targets, the tall boy from Twelve, who's running away towards the tree line. The spear doesn't quite him quite as cleanly, but it seems to have cut him well.

 _What a show-off._

I pick up a sword that's resting on top of a box when I'm suddenly shoved from behind by someone coming out of the Cornucopia. Catching my fall, I turn around to face the girl from Five, who's holding a silver bow in one hand a few arrows in the other. Bean charges at her with a knife and manages to draw blood. But as she turns around to have another go at her, Five nocks an arrow with surprising speed and fires it, hitting Bean right in the chest. For a moment, both of us stay completely still, shocked at what just happened. Five then starts to run towards the forest, holding only the bow. I get up to chase her, only to have the boy from Six get in my way. He swings his machete at me, which I deflect easily with the sword. Before he can recover, I slash at his neck, resulting in a spray of warm blood hitting my face.

 _So that's what it feels like._

Cora emerges from the Cornucopia with a dagger covered in blood.

"Who's that from?" I ask her.

"Boy from Ten. Was trying to sneak out the back."

Besides the six of us, the rest of the tributes (who weren't already dead) have dispersed.

I turn around to see Poco kneeling over his sister's body.

"Who did this?" He demanded, in a menacing voice of grief and anger.

"The girl from Five, I—I think. She ran off that way with just a bow," I tell him, gesturing in the general direction I believe she went.

Without warning, Poco storms past the rest of us into the Cornucopia, holding his axe in his right hand. He emerges seconds later with a backpack and runs off towards the woods, the rest of us silent as we were moments ago.

"I wouldn't want to be her," Dom comments.

According to the plan, we start to move the remaining supplies into the Cornucopia itself. Although things are quiet now, I can't help but think about the fact that this is the most exciting thing I've done in my entire life.

And this is the just beginning.

* * *

 **AN: Roughly 16 months after I started this story, the Games have finally begun. Thanks to everyone who's still reading, and I'd love to hear your thoughts on this chapter. I know it's short, but hopefully, the amount of action will make up for it.**

 **It wasn't easy choosing which tributes to kill off in the Bloodbath, as each one is a potential story waiting to be written. After much deliberation, these are the tributes I've ultimately decided on, based on how I want the story to go.**

 **Here's a summary of the deaths so far, in roughly chronological order:**

 **Amanda Arc (D11F), killed by Bliss Emerson (D1M)**

 **Klein Yamamoto (D8M), killed by Dominic Axton (D2M)**

 **Cardiff Hriver (D12M), killed by Dominic Axton (D2M)**

 **Bean Olas (D4F), killed by Cassie Gammon (D5F)**

 **Jaguar Wallace (D6M), killed by Miracle Emerson (D1F)**

 **Dexter Normande (D10M), killed by Sycorax Adherra (D2F)**


	24. The First Night

**Here's the first post-Bloodbath chapter. I hope it's worth the wait!**

* * *

Veranda Quinton

District 3 Female

18 Years Old

So, that was the Bloodbath. I didn't kill anyone, and nobody killed me. Fair enough. I was never going to win this thing by brute force anyway.

We ended up with a decent amount of supplies between the five of us. Hal's pack was mostly full of food items – beef jerky, dried fruit, nuts, that kind of thing. Whitney's bag had mostly first-aid stuff – bandages, gauze, rubbing alcohol, and so on.

Daley managed to snatch a crossbow that was near his plate. Everyone knows a crossbow is one of the best weapons you can get in the Games. I need to make sure I get ahold of it somehow…

"This seems like a good area," Whitney says as we approach a small clearing not too far from a stream.

Daley walks right up and drinks from it. "Nice and cold."

We spend the rest of the daytime setting up a few traps and looking around for edible berries. Nobody bothered us, although Audric said he saw the boy from Four in the distance, trekking on his own. Soon enough, it was nighttime, and images of today's deceased lit up the sky. None of them are that surprising, except for maybe the girl from Four.

"A Career killed during the Bloodbath? Nice," Daley comments.

"She was only fourteen…" says Hal quietly.

"And a trained killer all the same," replies Daley.

"So she died and Audric sees her brother by himself," Whitney adds. "He probably left the group to hunt down whoever killed his sister."

"Seems like the type to do that," I say.

"Only four people left in the Career group then," Audric points out, "Meaning we outnumber them."

"We can cut their numbers down some more," I suggest.

"And how are we supposed to do that?" asks Daley.

"I bet they'll have two people guard the Cornucopia, and the other two go hunting. We can set up a decoy fire. Lure them in and take them down with the crossbow. Unless you have any better ideas…"

Daley shoots me a look but then turns away.

"And who's actually going to fire the crossbow?" Whitney asks.

I answer confidently. "I will. You've seen me during training with it, haven't you?"

There's a brief silence before Audric speaks up again.

"We'll need some firewood then."

Audric and Hal stay behind to watch our stuff, while Daley, Whitney, and I spread out to gather firewood. None of us go that far, but we quickly lose sight of one another in the woods, owing to the darkness. Right away, I reach into the small backpack I snatched from the starting area. There's something in here my so-called allies don't know about: a minuscule vial that can be easily concealed in my palm. The liquid inside is a deep blue, and it looks rather viscous. The vial is labeled with only a small sticker depicting a skull and crossbones in black. It feels like receiving a sponsor gift, only it's from the Gamemakers this time. Of course, I don't know how potent this thing is, but given its appearance, it probably needs to be heavily diluted to remain undetected. Anyway, there's an easy way to test this out.

I'm now upstream from the area we've chosen. Unscrewing the lid of the vial, I pour about half of its contents into the stream.

What can I say? This alliance has a few too many people for my liking.

* * *

Audric Bract

District 9 Male

15 Years Old

While the others are out gathering wood for the fire, I'm sitting here in the moonlight, listening to Hal talk about his life back home – his three older sisters, how his parents rejected him, and more. He seems like a genuinely good kid, but I know better than to get attached. I'm in this thing for myself and myself only.

Speaking of which, I'm a bit surprised that I haven't fallen asleep yet. That pill they gave me on the hovercraft must last longer than I originally thought. Guess they want to keep things interesting for the audiences back home…

I realize I'm on borrowed time here. Falling asleep would be incredibly dangerous, even if it happens while my allies are around. Hal is harmless, but I don't really trust the pair from Three, who hardly seem to trust each other. Whitney seems trustworthy enough for now, but she has a capable and determined look about her. She won't go out of her way to help me, that's for sure.

Daley returns first with a bundle of twigs on his right shoulder. "You really think this'll work?"

"It's worth a shot," I reply. "And we can probably use the leftover wood once it's over."

Soon enough, Whitney and Veranda return as well, both bringing a decent load of dried sticks with them.

"We should leave some stuff around the fire, like empty containers or something," suggests Whitney.

"Hopefully it's enough to convince 'em," Daley comments.

"Better than nothing," I tell them as I begin stacking some of the wood near the center of the clearing.

"I'm gonna go grab a drink," says Hal while the rest of the group begin arranging the decoy stuff.

By the time I'm done, there's enough wood for a pretty large fire. The Careers shouldn't have any problem spotting this one from the Cornucopia. Any bigger and it wouldn't seem like a legitimate campfire anymore.

The sound of the cannon startles me. Right away, I turn around and see Hal lying flat on the ground, his eyes wide open, staring emptily at the full moon. The rest of the group immediately scramble for whatever weapons we picked up back at the Cornucopia. With nothing close to me, I instinctively grab one of the larger sticks we brought back.

"Shit," whispers Whitney.

"Did you see anyone?" I ask her in a hushed voice. She shakes her head.

After a few tense moments, the area seems to be clear. Apparently, we're not under attack. So how did Hal just drop dead?

Before the hovercraft comes, we turn him over to find a wound. But there's nothing – not even a speck of blood.

"Could have been poison," Daley points out.

"He did say he was gonna grab a drink from the stream," I tell the group, unsure if they'd heard him earlier.

"But you drank from the same stream when we first found it," Whitney says to Daley, "And you're still breathing."

"It could've been poisoned between then and now," Daley points out.

"Looks like someone already knows we're here," says Veranda. "Let's forget the fire and get going."

* * *

Dominic "Dom" Axton

District 2 Male

18 Years Old

"Guess we're down to four Careers now, after only a few minutes," remarks Bliss.

Cora shrugs. "Makes things simpler in a way. Fewer people that can screw things up now."

"Don't forget that Poco is still out there," says Miracle, "And I doubt there'll be a happy reunion."

"We'll deal with him if it comes to that," I reply. "He's good, but so are we. And there's four of us."

We spent most of the daylight hours consolidating the supplies around the Cornucopia, forming an impressive stack inside the central pyramid. We then did inventory and made sure each one of us had what we needed. There was also time for a meal and making sure any injuries during the Bloodbath were tended to. Everything was by the book, the same way Careers have been operating for years. And that includes no hunting until the first night.

Miracle was getting visibly restless by the time the sun had set. "Enough sitting around. Can we go thin out the competition already?"

"Two of us can go while the other two watch over our stuff," I say. "And we should split up the pairs."

"You don't trust us?" Miracle asks.

"It's not that. We need to work together as a group, not just two pairs."

But of course, I _don't_ actually trust either of them yet. Being siblings just makes it worse. We're already down to four Careers, and I'd rather not see that number go down again so soon.

"Well you better trust me because I'm going with you," asserts Miracle.

She thinks she's playing tough, but I saw this coming. It was pretty obvious that she was getting bored of hanging around the Cornucopia. She probably knows I won't challenge her on this either, for the sake of keeping the group together.

"Alright, then." I reply coolly, "And you two will have the next hunt."

It's hard to tell how Bliss feels about this, but I can tell Cora is less than thrilled. Still, she says nothing and walks away.

It's a cool but windless night, with only the steady chirp of crickets accompanying the sound of our footsteps, a gentle reminder that the Hunger Games isn't all action, nor is it all about killing. The key to winning the Games is to _outlast_. And sometimes that means fewer encounters and kills. Each time we run into someone, there are random factors that can influence the outcome. In the past, many tributes from Two didn't really consider this. They took unnecessary risks, sacrificing practicality for bravado. If I'm going to win this thing, which I very much intend to, I need to be different.

My little self-reflection session is interrupted by Miracle.

"Not one for small-talk, huh?"

"I'd rather not warn everyone nearby that we're hunting them," I answer flatly. "And what's the point anyways? At least one of us will be dead before this is over."

"Wow. Way to ruin the mood."

Before I could think of some witty comeback, I catch a glimpse of light through the trees.

"Hey, you see that?"

"Yeah. Probably a fire," she replies.

"Are people really still doing this…"

"You'd be surprised."

"Well, I don't want any surprises here."

As we get closer to the source of the light, I can see that it's a small campfire set in the middle of a clearing.

Miracle has her sword ready and looks like she'll just charge right in.

"Wait a minute," I whisper, "I don't see anybody there."

"But there's all that gear lying around. Someone was trying to camp here for the night."

"Who builds a fire next to their supplies, and leaves it all just sitting there?"

"Idiots," answers Miracle. "Soon-to-be-dead ones."

"Could be a trap. Plenty of places to hide on the other side of the clearing. Maybe even up in the trees."

"So what are you saying Dom? We should just keep ignore it and keep walking?"

"Yes, actually," I tell her, "That would be the smart thing to do here. I mean, surely someone like you doesn't want to risk getting knocked out this early, right?"

With a frustrated sigh, she begins to walk away from the fire. She's clearly restless and eager to see some action, but I knew how to get to her. After all, District One is known for two things: luxury items and fragile egos.

* * *

 **Well, it goes without saying that it's been a very long time since I last updated. A lot of things have been going on in the last few months, mostly with med school applications. I'm not sure how many people are still following this story, but if you are – thank you for your patience, it really means a lot to me.**

 **As always, let me know what you think. I can't say when the next update will be, but I will try my best to get a more reasonable update schedule going while I can.**


	25. On My Own

**We're back! And no 5-month wait this time.**

* * *

Emberly Layden

District 12 Female

13 Years Old

I'm alive. And Cardiff is dead. These two thoughts stab at me as I continue running, my vision blurry from the tears in my eyes.

But why? Why did he go out of his way to help me like that? To put himself in danger for someone he's only known a few days? Surely, he doesn't think I can actually win these Games. No one thinks that, not even myself.

Unfortunately, I'll probably never know the answer to this question. What I do know is that I need to stay alive. Every breath I take is a gift, one that came at great cost.

Once I feel I'm far enough from the Cornucopia, I decide to stop and catch my breath. I can't run forever anyway, and I still haven't seen what's inside the backpack Cardiff gave me, the one that got him killed.

Crouching behind some dense shrubs nearby, I unzip the pack to find a few boxes of saltine crackers, two plastic bottles of water, a folded pocket knife, and a pair of binoculars painted in a green camouflage pattern.

Now I just need somewhere to hide. These shrubs cover me from one side but leave me exposed on the other. I know that wherever I go next, I can't get too comfortable. One of the only things I learned from Henry was that hiding was fine, but you still need to move every now and then, otherwise the Gamemakers will send something to make you move.

How different would this all be if Cardiff was still by my side… He'd probably have a game-plan that involves more than just hiding, and we could use his traps to get some food. These crackers aren't going to last me all that long.

 _Don't think about these things, Em. You can't afford to._

I try to shake these thoughts from my mind and step out from behind the shrubs, right in full view of another girl.

My heart sinks and my legs freeze up. She's tall, very tall in fact, and visibly strong. She carries in her right hand a sword-like weapon with a thick blade. Although her name escapes me, I believe she's from Ten.

 _This is it. There's no use running this time._

But after only the slightest of pauses on her part, she continues walking away as if she never saw me. Yet there was no way she didn't. Maybe she doesn't want to kill the little 13-year-old girl from Twelve. She probably doesn't consider me a threat anyway, as if sparing me this time wouldn't affect her chances of winning.

I need to be more careful now. I know I can't kill anyone, so staying out of the sight is the only option I have.

* * *

Poco Olas

District 4 Male

17 Years Old

Walking along this picturesque coastline reminds me of back home. Bean always loved the beach – surfing, swimming, or just lounging on the sand. She enjoyed it far more than being at the DSA, that's for sure. She was never meant to be a trained killer, and now she's dead.

Before we entered the arena, I'd been thinking of the challenges we'd face in the Games, like how the other Careers would view her, when we would split off, how to best utilize the sponsorship money… I couldn't imagine that she'd die in the Bloodbath. We were trained as Careers after all, and this was simply not a scenario I considered.

I know exactly who is responsible: the girl from Five. I don't know her name, since we were taught at the DSA to only associate faces with district numbers. It keeps everything impersonal, they said, preventing any emotional attachment that could get you killed. But she has made this personal now, and I will make sure she pays the price.

Yet Five didn't send Bean into the Hunger Games. No, it was Delaney St. Gallen and the incompetence of the DSA staff that did that. And in time, they will pay as well. The influence of a new Victor is not to be underestimated in Four. A leadership change at the DSA, or ruining someone's life – these are very attainable goals.

My mental planning is interrupted by the sight of a figure emerging from the woods – the tall girl from Ten. Despite the distance between us, she doesn't run, and I know this encounter won't be as easy as I was hoping for.

In her right hand is an interesting weapon – a modern take on the kukri, if I must describe it. She keeps it lowered until I'm within only a few yards of her.

I tighten my grip on the ax as I let my years of training take over. Ten may appear strong, but she's still an outer-district who lacks any combat experience.

The first few swings take us both nowhere. I decide to let her go on the offensive and focus on parrying her attacks. Soon enough, just as I expected, she overcommits and I have an opening. I charge forward and bury the ax in her side. Ten staggers back as I manage to pull my weapon out again. At this point it's just a matter of finishing the job, and within another few seconds a loud boom confirms her death.

It takes a little while before I feel a searing pain in my leg. I look down to see a sizeable cut on my left thigh, with blood soaking through the fabric of the surrounding area. It doesn't appear too serious, although the injury will definitely affect my movement and agility. Luckily for me, my backpack has some bandages and medical tape.

This really isn't the best result for the first encounter, but at least I'm still alive.

* * *

Cassie Gammon

District 5 Female

15 Years Old

There was no denying it. I had just killed someone, a 14-year-old girl. I mean, sure, Bean was a Career and attacked me first, but that doesn't change the fact that she's dead because of me. She probably has a bunch of friends at home and a family that cares deeply for her. One member of her family is here in the arena, and I don't think he'd care that I was merely defending myself, that I never imagined myself capable of taking another life, that I can't stop thinking about what had happened just a few hours ago. I thought about the archery station back at the training center – the rubber dummies and circular targets. I had wondered how different everything would be when you're aiming at a real, live person. And here I am now, shocked and disgusted at how easily it came to me. It must have been the adrenaline, the heat of the moment. It must have been, right?

Since the Bloodbath, I've been trekking due north through the woods. I had a backpack full of assorted supplies, including the bandages I used for the cut on my arm. Strapped over my shoulder was a silver bow, now useless since I dropped the arrows when Bean attacked me.

Every now and then I'd stop and take a sip of water or eat some of the dried food I had with me. The arena was unsettlingly serene, with its songbirds, lush vegetation, and gentle hills. There was no way the Gamemakers would give us such a peaceful environment, especially given the slow mess that was last year's Games.

The sun's about to set now, and I would soon need a place to sleep. Yet everywhere I passed seemed too risky. What if the Careers found me in the middle of the night, Bean's brother among them? I strongly doubt they'd grace me with an easy death.

As I'm beginning to leave the forest behind, I immediately notice the subtle crash of waves in the distance. Racing ahead, I climb over a hill to see exactly what I had pictured in my head – a rocky shore that gives way to a beach on the left, with a white lighthouse slightly inland on the right. It was quite a captivating sight, especially since I've never seen the sea before.

I should probably check out the lighthouse. It's the only man-made structure I've seen since the Cornucopia, so maybe I can find some supplies there. Or even better, I might be able to find something to defend myself with if I get attacked again.

At the bottom of the lighthouse is a small home, modestly furnished. There's a kitchen, living room, bathroom, and bedroom. Everything seemed to be coated with a thin layer of dust, suggesting that no one had been here in a while. At least that's what the Gamemakers were going for.

Disappointingly enough, I can't find any weapons beyond a worn-down kitchen knife. Better than nothing, I suppose.

In the corner of the bedroom, there's a wooden desk with papers scattered all over it. One of them catches my attention – a black-and-white map of an island. A rectangle near the northern coast is labeled "lighthouse." I'm almost certain that's the building I'm in right now, and that this is a map of the arena. There are also several hand-written X's on the map that are unlabeled.

I shove the map into my backpack and hop onto the bed. Sure, there are plenty of other documents right in front of me, but I'm tired and I've always hated reading. The sun has fully set now and my eyelids are growing heavy. Having an actual bed to sleep on during the Hunger Games? Not bad. Not bad at all.

* * *

Ebony Lanvin

District 8 Female

16 Years Old

He's dead. The boy I'd known for so long, the boy who loved me enough to do something as utterly stupid as volunteer for the Hunger Games, just so he could be with me. Yet in less than a minute after the gong rang, he was dead on the ground, skewered by a Career's spear. The scene keeps replaying in my head no matter how hard I try to push it away.

 _Don't remember him like that. Think about all the beautiful moments you've shared together._

But every time I closed my eyes, I only saw him on the grass, blood dripping down his chin as the life drained from his eyes. And to think that the last thing he saw was me running away… I had to. Any hesitation back there meant that I would be joining him. Would that be such a terrible thing though? Now I'm sitting against a tree trunk, emptyhanded and defenseless. Yet what bothers me most is the fact that he essentially gave his life so he could accompany me into the arena, and all I did was run away after he was hit. I feel disgusted at how helpless I was, how helpless I am now. These Careers, these 18-year-olds that train for years to gang up and kill kids… Klein meant nothing to them. I mean nothing to them. But when I saw the projection of Klein's image in the night sky, I realized that these Careers mean something to me. Yes, it's the only thing I can do for Klein now, the only way to redeem myself.

I need to hunt the Careers.

I know it sounds ridiculous and suicidal – a petite District Eight girl going after a pack of trained killers. Here's how I think about it though. I saw the Four girl's face in the sky, which brings them down to five people. She came in with her brother, who I saw fighting the girl from Ten earlier today. Begonia taught us that Careers never go out alone during the first few days and that they always stay around the Cornucopia until after the first sunset. And so, chances are that he abandoned the group, probably to chase down whoever killed his sister. That makes them down to only four people, all within day one.

The Careers won't be expecting anyone to go after them this early. And with their numbers, it's relatively doable. The thing is, I'm going to need some help.

* * *

 **AN: So, what are your thoughts on everything that's been going on so far? I can tell from the traffic stats that people are still reading this (despite the immense delays in updates), and I'd love to hear from you.**

 **I'm visiting a friend in London next week, so I might have some more time to write throughout the trip. The next chapter should be a little more action-packed.**


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